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POPULAR    NOVELS. 

B  Y 

AUGUSTA  EVANS  WILSON. 


1.  BEULAH  .     .  $1.75 

2.  MACARIA.    .     1.75 
8.  INEZ.  .         .1.75 


4.  ST.   ELMO.  .  $2.00 

5.  VASHTI.  .     .     2.00 

6.  INFELICE.    .     2.00 


'Who  has  not  read  with  rare  delight  the  novels  of  Augusta 

Evans?    Her  strange,  wonderful,  and   fascinating  style; 

the  profound  depths  to  which  she  sinks  the  probe  into 

human  nature,  touching  its  most  sacred  chords  and 

springs;  the  intense  interest  thrown  around 

her  characters,  and  the  very  marked  peou,- 

liarities  of  her  principal  figures,  con 

spire  to  gbe  an  unusual  interest 

to  the  works  of  this  eminent 

Southern    authoress." 


All  published  uniform  with  this  volume,  and  sent  free  by  mail, 
on  receipt  of  priie,  by 

G.    \V.    CARLETON   &    CQ.,    Publisher*, 
New   York. 


BE  U  L  A  H 


AUGUSTA  J.  EVANS, 

-1  MACAMA,"    "  ST.  ELMO,"    "  UNTIL  DEATH  C8  DO  PART  '"    «TO,  WO. 


NEW    YORK : 

Carleton,  Publisher,  Madison  Square 

LONDON  :    S.  LOW,  SON  &  CO. 
M  DCCC  LXXVI. 


EHTERBD  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  ta  the  yeai  1858,  bv 
DERBY    A    JAOKSCtf 

in  tbe  CUrk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  me  waited  States,  for  the  Southern  District  of 
Wew  York. 


JOHN  F.  Taow  &  SON,  PRINTERS, 
205-313  EAST  laTH  ST.,  NEW  YORK. 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEB  PAGE 

1 7 

II 15 

III 31 

IV 38 

V 48 

YI 53 

VII 60 

VIII 67 

IX 81 

X 94 

XI 114 

XII 121 

XIII .  132 

XIV 148 

XV 158 

XVI 168 

XVII 188 

XVIII 206 

XIX.         .         . 223 

XX 240 

XXI 259 

XXII.     .                  275 

XXIII .         .293 

XXIV '309 

XXV 326 

XXVI 339 

XXVII 348 

XXVIII 359 

XXIX 373 

XXX 386 

XXXI 395 

XXXII 405 

XXXIII.         ........  41  (i 

XXXIV 42<) 

XXXV 442 

XXXVI.     .                  4f>:i 

XXXVII.         .    ~ 464 

XXXVIIT 474 

XXXIX.         . 484 

XL 497 

XLI.  505 


BE  UL  AH, 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  JANUARY  sua  had  passed  the  zenith,  and  the  slanting  raji 
flainea  over  the  window-panes  of  a  large  brick  building,  bearing 
in  its  front  in  golden  letters  the  inscription,  "  Orphan  Asylum." 
The  structure  was  commodious,  and  surrounded  by  wide  galleries, 
while  the  situation  offered  a  silent  tribute  to  the  discretion  ana 
good  sense  of  the  board  of  managers,  who  selected  the  suburbs  ) 
instead  of  the  more  densely  populated  portion  of  the  city.  The 
whitewashed  palings  inclosed,  as  a  front  yard  or  lawn,  rather 
more  than  an  acre  of  ground,  sown  in  grass  and  studded  with 
trees,  among  which  the  shelled  walks  meandered  gracefully.  A 
long  avenue  of  elms  and  poplars  extended  from  the  gate  to  the 
principal  entrance,  and  imparted  to  the  Asylum  an  imposing 
and  venerable  aspect.  There  was  very  little  .shrubbery,  but 
here  and  there  orange  boughs  bent  beneath  their  load  of  golden 
fruitage,  while  the  glossy  foliage,  stirred  by  the  wind,  trembled 
and  glistened  in  the  sunshine.  Beyond  the  inclosure  stretched 
» ho  common,  dotted  with  occasional  clumps  of  pine  and  leafless 
oaks,  through  which  glimpses  of  the  city  might  be  had.  Building 
and  grounds  wore  a  quiet,  peaceful,  inviting  look,  singularly 
appropriate  for  the  purpose  designated  by  the  inscription, 
'*  Orphan  Asylum,"  a  haven  for  the  desolate  and  miserable 


8  BEULAH. 

The  front  door  was  closed,  but  upon  the  broad  granite  steps, 
where  the  sunlight  lay  warm  and  tempting,  sat  a  trio  of  the 
inmates.  In  the  foreground  was  a  slight  fairy.. form,  "a  wee 
winsome  thing,"  with  coral  lips,  and  large,  soft  blue  eyes,  set  in  a 
frame  of  short,  clustering  golden  curls.  She  looked  about  sis 
jears  old,  and  was  clad,  like  her  companions,  in  canary-colored 
flannel  dress,  and  b.ne  check  apron.  Lillian  was  the  pet  of  the 
Asylum  and  now  her  rosy  cheek  rested  upon  her  tiny  white 
palm,  as  though  she  wearied  of  the  picture-book  which  lay  at 
her  feet.  The  figure  beside  her,  was  one  whose  marvellous 
hearty  riveted  the  gaze  of  ail  who  chanced  to  see  her.  The 
chiH  could  have  been  but  a  few  months  older  than  Lillian,  yet 
the  brilliant  black  eyes,  the  neculiar  curve  of  the  dimpled  mouth, 
and  long,  dark  ringlets,  gave  to  the  oval  face  a  inaturer  and 
tnor<}  piquant  loveliness.  The  cast  of  Claudia's  countenance 
bo^Doke  her  foreign  parentage,  and  told  of  the  warm,  fierce 
Italian  blood  that  glowed  in  her  cheeks.  There  was  fascinating 
grace  in  every  movement,  even  in  the  easy  indolence  of  her 
position,  as  she  bent  on  one  knee  to  curl  Lillian's  locks  over  her 
finger.  On  the  upper  step,  in  the  rear  of  these  two,  sat  a  girl 
whose  age  could  not  have  been  very  accurately  guessed  from  her 
countenance,  and  whose  features  contrasted  strangely  with  those 
•of  her  companions.  At  a  first  casual  glance,  one  thought  her 
rather  homely,  nay,  decidedly  ugly  ;  yet,  to  the  curious  physio- 
gnomist, this  face  presented  greater  attractions  than  either  of  the 
others.  Header,  I  here  paint  you  the  portrait  of  that  quiet 
little  figure,  whose  history  is  contained  in  the  following  pages. 
A  pair  of  large  grey  eyes  set  beneath  an  overhanging  forehead, 
a  boldly-projectiug-forehead,  broad  and  smooth  ;  a  rather  large 
but  finely  cut  mouth,  an  irreproachable  nose,  of  the  order  fur- 
thest removed  from  aquiline,  and  heavy  black  eyebrows,  which, 
instead  of  arching,  stretched  straight  across  and  nearly  met. 
There  was  not  a  vestige  of  color  in  her  cheeks;  face,  neck,  am] 
hands  wore  a  sickly  pallor,  and  a  mass  of  rippling,  jetty  hair, 
drawn  smoothly  over  the  temples,  rendered  this  marble-liki 


BET7LAH.  8 

whiteness  more  apparent.     Unlike  the  younger  children.  Beulab 
was  busily  sewing  upon  what  seemed  the  counterpart  of  thelf 
aprons  ;    and  the  sad  expression  of  the  countenance,  the  lips 
firmly  compressed,  as  if  to  prevent  the  utterance  of  complaint 
showed  that  she  had  become  acquainted  with  cares  and  sorrows,  \ 
of  which  they  were  yet  happily  ignorant.     Her  eyes  were  beat  i 
down  on  her  work,  and  the  long,  black  lashes  nearly  touches 
her  cold  cheeks. 

"  Sister  Beulah,  ought  Claudy  to  say  that  ?"  cried  Lillian, 
turning  round  and  laying  her  hand  upon  the  piece  of  sewing. 

"  Say  what,  Lilly  ?     I  was  not  listening  to  you." 

"  She  said  she  hoped  that  largest  robin  redbreast  would  gel 
drunk,  and  tumble  down.  He  would  be  sure  to  bump  some  of 
his  pretty  bright  feathers  out,  if  he  rolled  over  the  shells  two  01 
three  times,"  answered  Lilly,  pointing  to  a  China-tree  near, 
where  a  flock  of  robins  were  eagerly  chirping  over  the  feast  of 
berries. 

"  Why,  Claudy  1  how  can  you  wish  the  poor  little  fellow  such    ' 
bad  luck  ?"     The  dark,  thoughtful  eyes,  full  of  deep  meaning, 
rested  on  Claudia's  radiant  face.  ^ 

"  Oh  !  you  nee'd  not  think  I  am  a  bear,  or  a  hawk,  ready  to 
swallow  the  darling  little  beauty  alive  !  I  would  not  have  him 
lose  a  feather  for  the  world  ;  but  I  should  like  the  fun  of  seeing 
him  stagger  and  wheel  over  and  over,  and  tumble  off  the  limb, 
BO  that  I  might  run  and  catch  him  in  my  apron.  Do  you  think 
/  would  give  him  to  our  matron  to  make  a  pie  ?  No,  you  might 
take  off  my  fingers  first  1"  and  the  little  elf  snapped  them 
pmphatically  in  Beulah's  face. 

"  Make  a  pie  of  robics,  indeed  !  I  would  starve  before  1 
would  eat  a  piece  of  it,"  chimed  in  Lilly,  with  childish  horror  at 
the  thought. 

Claudia  laughed  with  mingled  mischief  and  chagrin.  "  You 
jay  you  would  not  eat  a  bit  of  roby-pie  tc  save  your  life! 
Well,  you  did  it  last  week,  anyhow." 

"  Oh,  Claudy,  I  didn't  1" 


10  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

"  Oh,  but  you  did  !  Don't  you  remember  Susan  picked  up  a 
bird  ?ast  week  that  fell  out  of  this  very  tree,  and  gave  it  to  out 
matron  ?  Well,  didn't  we  have  bird-pie  for  dinner  I" 

"  Yes,  but  one  poor  little  fellow  would  not  make  a  pie." 

"  They  bad  some  birds,  already  that  came  from  the  market, 
»nd  I  heard  Mrs.  Williams  tell  Susan  to  put  it  in  with  tha 
others.  So,  you  see,  you  did  eat  roby-pie,  and  I  didn't,  for  I 
knew  what  was  in  it.  I  saw  its  head  wrung  off !" 

"Well,  I  hope  I  did  not  get  any  of  roby  :  I  won't  eat  any 
more  pie  till  they  have  all  gone,"  was  Lilly's  consolatory  reflec- 
tion. Chancing  to  glance  toward  the  gate,  she  exclaimed  : 

"  There  is  a  carriage." 

"  What  is  to  day  ?  let  me  see,  Wednesday  :  yes,  this  is  the  even- 
ing for  the  ladies  to  meet  here.  Lil,  is  my  face  right  clean  ? 
because  that  red-headed  Miss  Dorothy  always  takes  particular 
pains  to  look  at  it.  She  rubbed  her  pocket-handkerchief  over  it 
the  other  day.  I  do  hate  her,  don't  you  ?"  cried  Claudia,  spring- 
ing up  and  buttoning  the  baud  of  her  apron  sleeve,  which  had 
become  unfastened. 

"  Why,  Claudy,  I  am  astonished  to  hear  you  talk  so  :  Miss 
Dorothy  helps  to  buy  food  and  clothes  for  us,  and  you  ought  to 
be  ashamed  to  speak  of  her  as  you  do."  As  she  delivered  this 
reprimand,  Beulah  snatched  up  a  small  volume  and  hid  it  in  her 
work-basket. 

"  I  don't  believe  she  gives  us  much.  I  do  hate  her,  and  T 
can't  help  it,  she  is  so  ugly,  and  cross,  and  vinegar-faced.  I 
should  not  like  her  to  look  at  my  mug  of  milk.  You  don't  love 
her  either,  any  more  than  I  do,  only  you  won't  say  anything  about 
her.  But  kiss  me,  and  I  promise  I  will  be  good,  and  not  make 
faces  at  her  in  my  apron."  Beulah  stooped  down  and  warmly 
kissed  the  suppliant,  then  took  her  little  sister's  hand  and  led  her 
into  the  house,  just  as  the  carriage  reached  the  door.  The 
children  presented  a  pleasant  spectacle  as  they  entered  the  long 
dining-room,  and  ranged  themselves  for  inspection.  Twenty-eight 
heirs  of  orphanage,  varying  in  years,  from  one  crawling  infant,  t« 


BEULAH.  li 

arell-nigh  grown  girls,  all  neatly  clad,  and  with  smiling,  contented 
faces,  if  we  except  one  grave  countenance,  which  might  have 
been  remarked  by  the  close  observer.  The  weekly  visiting  com- 
mittee consisted  of  four  of  the  lady  managers,  but  to-day  the 
number  was  swelled  to  six.  A  glance  at  the  inspectors  sufficed 
to  inform  Beulah  that  something  of  more  than  ordinary  interest 
had  convened  them  on  the  present  occasion,  and  she  was  passing 
oil  to  her  accustomed  place,  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  familiar 
face,  partially  concealed  by  a  straw  bonnet.  It  was  her  Sabbath 
Bchool  teacher ;  a  sudden  glad  light  flashed  over  the  girl's 
countenance,  and  the  pale  lips  disclosed  a  set  of  faultlessly  beau- 
tiful teeth,  as  she  smiled  and  hastened  to  her  friend. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Mason  ?  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  !" 

"  Thank  you,  Beulah,  I  have  been  promising  myself  this  plea- 
sure a  great  while.  I  saw. Eugene  this  morning,  and  told  him  I 
was  coming  out.  He  sent  you  a  book  and  a  message.  Here  is 
the  book.  You  are  to  mark  the  passages  you  like  particularly, 
and  study  them  well  until  he  comes.  When  did  you  see  him 
last?" 

Mrs.  Mason  put  the  volume  in  her  hand  as  she  spoke. 

"  It  has  been  more  than  a  week  since  he  was  here,  and  I  was 
afraid  he  was  sick.  He  is  very  kind  and  good  to  remember  the 
book  he  promised  me,  and  I  thank  you  very  much,  Mr£  Mason, 
for  bringing  it."  The  face  was  radiant  with  new-born  joy,  but 
it  all  dice1  out  when  Miss  Dorothea  White  (little  Claudia's  par- 
ticular aversion)  fixed  her  pale  blue  eyes  upon  her,  and  asked,  in 
a  sharp,  discontented  tone  : 

"  What  ails  that  girl,  Mrs.  Williams  ?  she  does  not  work 
'jnough,  or  she  would  have  some  blood  in  her  cheeks.  Has  she 
been  sick  ?" 

"  No,  madam,  she  has  not  been  sick  exactly,  but  somehow  sh«  f 
never  looks  strong  and  hearty  like  the  others.     She  works  well  (  " 
enough.     There  is  not  a  better  or  more  industrious  girl  in  th« 
asylum,  but  I  rather  think  she  studies  too  much.     She  will  sit  ujr 
Hid  read  of  nights,  when  the  others  are  all  sound  asleep ;  an<J 


12  BEULAH. 

Very  often,  when  Kate  and  I  put  out  the  hall  lamp,  we  find  hei 
with  her  book  alone  in  the  cold.  I  can't  get  rny  consent  to 
forbid  her  reading,  especially  as  it  never  interferes  with  hci 
regular  work,  and  she  is  so  fond  of  it."  As  the  kind-hearteo 
matron  uttered  these  words  she  glanced  at  the  child  and  sighed 
nvoluntarily. 

"  You  are  too  indulgent,  Mrs.  Williams  ;  we  cannot  afford  to 
feed  and  clothe  girls  of  her  age,  to  wear  themselves  out  reading 
trash  all  night.  We  are  very  much  in  arrears  at  best,  and  I 
think  some  plan  should  be  adopted  to  make  these  large  girls,  who 
have  been  on  hand  so  long,  more  useful.  What  do  you  say, 
ladies  ?"  Miss  Dorothea  looked  around  for  some  encouragement 
and  support  in  her  move. 

"  Weil,  for  my  part,  Miss  White,  I  think  that  child  is  not 
strong  enough  to  do  much  hard  work  ;  she  always  has  looked 
delicate  and  pale,"  said  Mrs.  Taylor,  an  amiable  looking  woir.au, 
who  had  taken  one  of  the  youngest  orphans  on  her  knee. 

"  My  dear  friend  that  is  the  very  reason  :  she  does  not  exer- 
cise sufficiently  to  make  her  robust.  Just  look  at  her  face  and 
hands,  as  bloodless  as  a  turnip." 

"  Beulah,  do  ask  her  to  give  you  some  of  her  beautiful  color  ; 
she  looks  exactly  like  a  cake  of  tallow,  with  two  glass  beads  in 
the  midcHe," 

"  Hush  1"  and  Beulah's  hand  was  pressed  firrJp  over  Claudia'* 
crimson  lips,  lest  the  whisper  of  the  indignait  little  brunette 
should  reach  ears  for  which  it  was  not  intended . 

As  no  one  essayed  to  answer  Miss  White,  the  matron  ven- 
tured to  suggest  a  darling  scheme  of  her  own. 

"  I  have  always  hoped  the  managers  would  conclude  to  educate 
her  for  a  teacher.  She  is  so  studious,  I  know  she  would  learn 
very  rapidly." 

"  My  dear  madam,  you  do  not  in  the  least  un  ierstand  what  you 
dre  talking  about.  It  would  require  at  least  five  years'  careful 
Draining  to  fit  her  to  teach,  and  our  finances  d  >  not  admit  of  any 
luch  expenditure.  As  the  best  thing  for  her,  I  should  move  t# 


BEULAH.  IS 

bind  her  out  to  a  mantna-maker  or  milliner,  but  she  tould  not 
stand  tho  confinement.  She  would  go  off  with  consumption  it 
<ess  than  a  yeaf.  There  is  the  trouble  with  these  deli  eat* 
children." 

"  How  is  the  babe  that  was  brought  here  last  week  T'  asked 
Iks.  Taylor. 

"  Oh,  he  is  doing  beautifully.  Bring  him  round  the  table, 
Susan,"  and  the  rosy,  smiling  infant  was  handed  about  for 
closer  inspection.  A  few  general  inquiries  followed,  and  then 
Beulah  was  not  surprised  to  hear  the  order  given  for  the  child- 
ren to  retire,  as  the  managers  had  some  especial  business 
with  their  matron.  The  orphan  baud  defiled  into  the  hall,  and 
dispersed  to  their  various  occupations,  but  Beulah  approached 
the  matron,  and  whispered  something,  to  which  the  reply  was  : 

"  No  :  if  you  have  finished  that  other  apron,  you  shall  sew 
no  more  to-day.  You  can  pump  a  fresh  bucket  of  water,  and 
then  run  out  into  the  yard  for  some  air." 

She  performed  the  duty  assigned  to  her,  and  then  hastened 
to  the  dormitory,  whither  Lillian  and  Claudia  had  preceded  her 
The  latter  was  standing  on  a  chair,  mimicking  Miss  Dorothea, 
and  haranguing  her  sole  auditor,  in  a  nasal  twang,  which  she 
contrived  to  force  from  her  beautiful  curling  lips.  At  sight  of 
Beulah,  she  sprang  toward  her,  exclaiming  : 

"You  shall  be  a  teacher  if  you  want  to,  shan't  you, 
Beulah  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  Claudy.  But  don't  say  any  more  about 
her ;  she  is  not  as  kind  as  our  dear  matron,  or  some  of  the 
managers,  but  she  thinks  she  is  right.  Remember,  she  made 
these  pretty  blue  curtains  round  your  and  Lilly's  bed." 

"  I  don't  care  if  she  did.  All  the  ladies  were  making  them, 
and  she  did  no  more  than  the  rest.  Never  mind  :  I  shall  be  a 
young  lady  some  of  these  days  ;  our  matron  says  I  will  b«  j 
beautiful  enough  to  marry  the  President,  and  then  I  will  see 
whether  Miss  Dorothy  Red-head  comes  meddling  and  bothering 
rou  any  more."  The  brilliant  eyes  dilated  with  pleasure,  at  the 


14  BEULAH. 

thought  of  the  protection  which  the  future  lady- President  would 
afford  her  protegee. 

Beulah  smiled,  and  asked  almost  gaily  : 

"  Claudy,  how  much  will  you  pay  me  a  mouth,  to  dress  you, 
and  keep  your  hair  in  order,  when  you  get  into  the  Whittf 
!Jouse  at  Washington  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  dear  darling  I  you  shall  have  everything  you  want, 
<ind  do  nothiug  but  read."  The  impulsive  child  threw  her  arms 
around  Bculah's  neck,  and  kissed  her  repeatedly,  while  the 
latter  bent  down  over  her  basket. 

"  Lilly,  here  are  some  chiucapins  for  you  and  Olaudy.  I  am 
going  out  into  the  yard,  and  you  may  both  go  and  p.' ay  hull 
.gull " 

In  the  debating  room  of  the  visiting  committee,  Miss  White 
,ngain  had  the  floor.  She  was  no  less  important  a  personage 
than  vice-president  of  the  board  of  managers,  and  felt  author- 
ized to  investigate  closely,  and  redress  all  grievances. 

"  Who  did  you  sav  sent  that  book  here,  Mrs.  Mason  ?" 

"  Eugene  Rutland,  who  was  once  a  member  of  Mrs.  Williams3 
orphan  charge  in  this  asylum.  Mr.  Graham  adopted  him,  and 
he  is  now  known  as  Eugene  Graham.  He  is  very  much  attached 
to  Beulah,  though  I  believe  they  are  not  at  all  related." 

"  He  left  the  asylum  before  I  entered  the  board.  What 
sort  of  boy  is  he  ?  I  have  seen  him  several  times,  and  do  not 
particularly  fancy  him." 

"  Oh,  madam,  he  is  a  noble  boy  1  It  was  a  great  trial  to 
me  to  part  with  him  three  years  ago.  He  is  much  older  than 
Bi-ulah,  and  loves  her  as  well  as  if  she  were  his  sister,"  said  the 
niatron,  more  hastily  than  was  her  custom,  when  answering  any 
Of  the  managers. 

"  I  suppose  he  has  put  this  notion  of  being  a  teacher  into  her 
head  ;  well,  she  must  get  it  out,  that  is  all.     I   know  of  an 
excellent  situation,  where  a  lady  is  willing  to  pay  six  dollars  a 
month  for  a  girl  of  her  age  to  attend  to  an  infant,  and  I 
we  must  secure  it  for  her  " 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  15 

"  Ob,  Miss  White  I  she  is  not  able  to  carry  a  hear?  child 
always  in  her  arms,"  expostulated  Mrs.  Williams. 

"  Yes  she  is.     I  will  venture  to  say  she  looks  all  the  bettei 
for  it  at  the  month's  end." 

The  last  sentence,  fraught  witL  interest  to  herself,  fell  upon 
Beulah's  ear,  as  she  passed  through  the  hall,  and  an  unerring  I  y 
Intuition  told  her  "you  are  the  one."     She  put  her  hands  over  » 
her  ears  to  shut  out  Miss  Dorothea's  sharp  tones,  and  hurried 
away,  with  a  dim  foreboding  of  coming  evil,  which  pressed 
heavily  upon  her  young  heart. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE  following  day,  in  obedience  to  the  proclamation  of  tn« 
mayor  of  the  city,  was  celebrated  as  a  season  of  special  thanks- 
giving, and  the  inmates  of  the  asylum  were  taken  to  church  to 
morning  service.  After  an  early  dinner,  the  matron  gave  them 
permission  to  amuse  themselves  the  remainder  of  the  day  aa 
their  various  inclinations  prompted.  There  was  an  immediate 
dispersion  of  the  assemblage,  and  only  Beulah  lingered  beside 
the  matron's  chair. 

"  Mrs.  Williams,  may  I  take  Lilly  with  me,  and  go  out  into 
the  woods  at  the  back  of  the  Asylum  ?" 

"  I  want  you  at  home  this  evening,  but  I  dislike  very  much 
/o  refuse  yon." 

"  Oh  1  never  mind,  if  you  wish  me  to  do  anything,"  answered 
fhe  girl  cheerfully. 

Tears  rolled  over  the  matron's  face, "and  hastily  averting  hei 
Head,  she  wiped  them  wway  with  the  corner  of  her  apron. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  to  help  you  ?     What  is  the  matter  T9 

"  Never  mind,  Beulah;  do  you  get  your  bonnet  and  go  to  th« 


16  BEULAH 

edge  of  the  voods — not  too  far,  remember:  and  if  I  must  uaTi 
yon,  why  I  will  send  for  you." 

"  I  would  rather  not  go  if  it  will  be  any  trouble." 

"No,  dear,  it's  no  trouble;  I  want  you  to  go,"  answercu 
the  matron,  turning  hastily  away.  Beulah  felt  very  strongly 
inclined  to  follow,  and  inquire  what  was  in  store  for  her;  but 
the  weight  on  her  heart  pressed  more  heuvily,  and  murmur 
ing  to  herself,  "it  will  come  time  enough,  time  enough,"  sh« 
passed  on. 

"  May  I  come  with  you  and  Lilly  ?"  entreated  little  Claudia, 
running  down  the  walk  at  full  speed,  and  putting  her  curly  head 
through  the  palings  to  make  the  request. 

"  Yes,  come  on.  You  and  Lilly  can  pick  up  some  nice  smooth 
burs  to  make  baskets  of.  But  where  is  your  bonnet  ?" 

"I  forgot  it;"  she  ran  up,  almost  out  of  breath,  and  seized 
Beulah's  hand. 

"You  forgot  it,  indeed!  You  little  witch,  you  will  burn  as 
black  as  a  gipsy." 

"  I  don't  care  if  I  do.     I  hate  bonnets." 

"  Take  care,  Claudy;  the  President  won't  have  you  all  freckled 
and  tanned." 

"  Won't  he  ?"  queried  the  child,  with  a  saucy  sparkle  in  her 
black  eyes. 

"  That  he  won't;  here,  tie  on  my  hood,  and  the  next  time  you 
tome  running  after  me,  bareheaded,  I  will  make  you  go  back; 
do  you  hear  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  hear.  I  wonder  why  Miss  Dorothy  don't  bleach  off 
her  freckles;  she  looks  just  like  a  " 

"  Hush  about  her,  and  run  on  ahead." 

"Do  pray  let  me  get  my  breath  first;  which  way  are  we 
rjoing  ?" 

"  To  the  pincy  woods  yonder,"  cried  Lilly,  clapping  her  hands 
m  childish  glee;  "won't  we  have  fun,  rolling  and  sliding  on  tht 
»traw  ?"  The  two  little  ones  walked  on  in  advance. 

The  path  along  which  their  feet  pattered  so  carelessly  led  tc 


BETTLAH.  17 

1  hollow  or  ravine,  and  the  ground  on  the  opposite  side  rose  intfl 
imall  hillocks,  thickly  wooded  with  pines.  Beulah  sat  down  upon 
H  mound  of  moss  and  leaves;  while  Claudia  and  Lillian,  throwing 
off  their  hoods,  commenced  the  glorious  game  of  sliding.  Tho 
pine  stra^r  presented  an  almost  glassy  surface,  and  starting  froni 
the  top  of  a  hillock,  they  slid  down,  often  stumbling  and  rolling 
together  to  the  bottom.  Many  a  peal  of  laughter  rang  out,  and 
echoed  far  back  in  the  forest,  and  two  blackbirds  could  not  liave 
Kept  up  a  more  continuous  chatter.  Apart  from  all  this  sat 
IJeulah;  she  had  remembered  the  matron's  words,  and  stopped 
j\£t  at  the  verge  of  the  woods,  whence  she  could  see  the  white 
p,«lings  of  the  Asylum.  Above  her  the  winter  breeze  moaned 
ai.d  roared  in  the  pine  tops;  it  was  the  sad  but  dearly  loved 
forest  music  that  she  so  often  stole  out  to  listen  to.  Every 
buath  which  sighed  through  the  emerald  boughs  seemed  to 
sweep  a  sympathetic  chord  in  her  soul,  and  she  raised  her  ar.ns 
toward  the  trees  as  though  she  longed  to  clasp  the  mighty 
musical  box  of  nature  to  her  heart.  The  far-off  blue  of  a  cloud 
less  sky  looked  in  upon  her,  like  a  watchful  guardian;  the  snu 
light  fell  slantingly,  now  mellowing  the  brown  leaves  and 
knotted  trunks,  and  now  seeming  to  shun  the  darker  spots  and 
recesses,  where  shadows  lurked.  For  a  time,  the  girl  forgot  all, 
but  the  quiet  and  majestic  beauty  of  the  scene.  She  loved  na-~1 
tjirejts  only  those  can  whose  sources  of  pleasure  have  been  sadly 
curtailed,  and  her  heart  went  out,  so  to  speak,  after  birds,  and 
trees,  and  flowers,  sunshine,  and  stars,  and  the  voices  of  sweep-  ^ 
ing  winds.  An  open  volume  lay  on  her  lap;  it  was  Longfellow's  * 
Poems,  the  book  Eugene  had  sent  her,  and  leaves  were  turuedj 
down  at  "  Excelsior,"  and  the  "  Psalm  of  Life."  The  changing 
countenance  indexed  very  accurately  the  emotions  which  were 
excited  by  this  communion  with  Nature.  There  was  an  up- 
dftcd  look,  a  brave,  glad,  hopeful  light  in  the  grey  eyes,  gene< 
tally  so  troubled  in  their  expression.  A  sacred  song  rose  on  th« 
evening  air,  a  solemn  but  beautiful  hymn.  She  sang  the  word? 
»f  the  great  strength-giving  poet,  the  ''  Ps%lm  of  Life:" 


B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

**  Tell  me  not  in  mournful  numbers, 

Life  is  but  an  empty  dream ; 
For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 
And  things  are  not  what  they  seem." 

It  was  wonderful  what  power  and  sweetness  there  Bras  ir  iei 
7oiee;  burst  after  burst  of   rich   melody  fell  from  her  trembling 
<•     iips.     Her  soul  echoed  the  sentiments  of  the  immortal  bard,  and 
ahe  repeated  again  and  again  the  fifth  verse: 

"  In  the  world's  broad  fieM  of  battle, 

In  the  bivouac  of  life ; 
Be  not  like  dumb  driven  cattle, 
Be  a  hero  in  the  strife." 

Intuitively  she  seemed  to  feel  that  an  hour  of  great  trial  was 
at  hand,  and  this  was  a  girding  for  the  combat.  With  the 
shield  of  a  warm,  hopeful  heart,  and  the  sword  of  a  strong,  un- 
faltering will,  she  awaited  the  shock;  but  as  she  concluded  her 
bCM^,  the  head  bowed  itself  upon  her  arms,  the  shadow  of  the 
unknown,  lowering  future  had  fallen  upon  hci  face,  and  only  the 
Groat  Shepherd  knew  what  passed  the  pale  lips  of  the  young 
orplian.  She  was  startled  by  the  sharp  bark  of  a  dog,  and 
looking  up,  saw  a  gentleman  leaning  against  a  neighboring  tree, 
and  regarding  her  very  earnestly.  He  came  forward  as  she 
perceived  him,  and  said  with  a  pleasant  smile: 

"  Yon  need  not  be  afraid  of  my  dog.  Like  his  master,  he 
would  not  disturb  you  till  you  finished  your  song.  Down,  Carlo; 
be  quiet,  sir.  My  little  friend,  tell  me  who  taught  you  to  sins:.11 

She  had  hastily  risen,  and  a  slight  glow  tinged  her  cheek  at 
bis  question.  Though  naturally  reserved  and  timid,  there  vras  a 
self-possession  about  her,  unusual  in  children  of  her  age,  and  she 
answered  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  have  never  had  a  teacher,  sir  ;  but 
i  listen  to  the  choir  on  Sabbath,  and  sing  our  Sunday-school 
hymns  at  church." 

"  Do  you  know  who  wrote  those  words  you  sang  just  new  ?  I 
was  not  aware  they  had  been  set  to  music  ?" 


B  £  U  L  A  H  IS 

9 

•'  1  found  them  in  this  book  yesterday,  and  liked  them  so  much 
that  I  tried  to  sing  them  by  one  of  our  hymn  tunes."  She  held 
np  the  volume  as  she  spoke. 

He  glanced  at  the  title,  and  then  looked  curiously  at  her,  | 
Beulah  chanced  just  then  to  turn  toward  the  Asylum,  and  saw 
one  of  the  oldest  girls  running  across  the  common.  The  shadow 
on  her  face  deepened,  and  she  looked  around  for  Claudia  and 
Lillian.  They  had  tired  of  sliding,  and  were  busily  engaged 
picking  up  pine  burs  at  some  little  distance  in  the  rear. 

11  Come,  Clandy — Lilly — our  matron,  has  sent  for  us  ;  come, 
make  haste." 

"  Do  you  belong  to  the  Asylum  ?"  asked  the  gentleman,  shak- 
ing the  ashes  from  his  cigar. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  she,  and  as  the  children  came  up  she 
bowed  and  turned  homeward. 

"  Wait  a  moment ;  those  are  not  your  sisters,  certainly  ?" 
His  eyes  rested  with  unfeigned  admiration  on  their  beautiful 
faces. 

"  This  one  is,  sir  ,  that  is  not."     As  she  spoke  she  laid  her  j    / 
hand  on  Lillian's  head.     Claudia  looked  shyly  at  the  stranger,  ( 
and  then  seizing  Beulah's  dress,  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  Beulah,  don't  let  us  go  just  yet.  I  left  such  a  nice, 
splendid  pile  of  burs." 

"  Yes,  we  must  go,  yonder  comes  Katy  for  us.  Good  even- 
ing, sir," 

"  Good  evening,  my  little  friend  ;  some  of  these  days  I  shall 
come  to  the  Asylum  to  see  you  all,  and  have  you  sing  that  song 
again." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  catching  her  sister's  hand,  walked 
rapidly  homeward.  Katy  delivered  Mrs.  Williams'  message, 
and  assured  Beulah  she  must  make  haste,  for  Miss  Dorothy  wai 
displeased  that  the  children  were  absent. 

"  What  1  is  she  there  again,  the  hateful  " 

Beulah's  hand  was  over  Claudia's  mouth,  and  prevented  th« 
remainder  of  the  sentence.  That  short  walk  was  painful,  and 


20  B  E  U  L  A  H 

conflicting  hopes  and  fears  chased  e^ch  otlier  in  the  sistcf'l 
heart,  as  she  tightened  her  hold  on  Lilly's  hand. 

"  Oh,  what  a  beautiful  carriage  1"  cried  Claudia,  as  they 
approached  the  door,  and  descried  an  elegant  carriage,  glittering 
with  silver  mountings,  and  drawn  by  a  pair  of  spirited  black 
horses. 

"  Yes,  that  it  is,  and  there  is  a  lady  and  gentleman  here  who 
must  be  very  rich,  judging  from  their  looks.  They  brought  Mia. 
White" 

"  What  do  they  want,  Katy  ?"  asked  Claudia. 

"  I  don't  know  for  certain,  though  I  have  my  own  thoughts," 
answered  the  girl,  with  a  knowing  laugh  that  grated  on  Beulalvg 
ears. 

"Here,  Beulah,  bring  them  to  the  dormitory,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
liams, meeting  them  at  the  door,  and  hurrying  them  up-stairs. 
She  hastily  washed  Claudia's  face  and  recurled  her  hair,  while 
the  same  offices  were  performed  for  Lillian  by  her  sister. 

"  Don't  rub  my  hand  so  hard,  you  hurt,"  cried  out  Claudia, 
sharply,  as  in  perfect  silence,  and  with  an  anxious  countenance,, 
the  kind  matron  dressed  her. 

"  I  only  want  to  get  it  white  and  clean,  beauty,"  was  the  con- 
ciliatory reply. 

"  Well,  I  tell  you  that  won't  come  off,  because  it's  turpen 
tine,"  retorted  the  self-willed  little  elf. 

"  Come,  Beulah,  bring  Lilly  along.  Miss  White  is  out  of 
patience." 

"  What  does  all  this  mean  ?"  said  Beulah,  taking  her  sister's 
hand* 

"  Don't  ask  me,  poor  child."  As  she  spoke,  the  good  woTiaa 
cshered  the  trio  into  the  reception-room.  None  of  the  c  ,her 
children  were  present ;  Beulah  noted  this  circumstance,  and 
drawing  a  long  breath,  looked  around. 

Miss  White  was  eagerly  talking  to  a  richly-dressed  and  very 
pretty  woman,  while  a  gentleman  stood  beside  thoni,  impatientlj 
twirling  his  seal  and  watch-key. 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  21 

All  looked  np,  and  Miss  White  exclaimed  : 

"  Here  they  are  :  now,  my  dear  Mrs.  Grayson,  1  rather  Jhtnfe 
JFOU  cau  be  suited.  Come  here,  little  ones."  She  drew  Claudia 
to  her  side,  while  Lilly  cling  closer  to  her  sister. 

"  Oh,  what  beauties  I  Only  look  at  them,  Alfred  I"  Mrs 
ftrayson  glanced  eagerly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Very  pretty  children,  indeed,  my  dear.  Extremely  pretty  , 
particularly  the  black-eyed  one,"  answered  her  husband,  with  far 
less  ecstasy. 

"  I  don't  know  ;  I  believe  I  admire  the  golden-haired  one  most 
She  is  a  perfect  fairy.  Come  here,  my  love,  rind  let  me  talk  to 
yon,"  continued  she,  addressing  Lilly.  The  child  clasped  her 
sister's  fingers  more  firmly,  and  did  not  advance  an  inch. 

"  Do  not  hold  her,  Beulah.  Come  to  the  lady,  Lillian,"  said 
Miss  White.  As  Beulah  gently  disengaged  her  hand,  she  felt  as 
if  the  anchor  of  hope  had  been  torn  from  her  hold,  but  stooping 
down,  she  whispered : 

"  Go  to  the  lady,  Lilly  darling  ;  I  will  not  leave  you." 

Thus  encouraged,  the  little  figure  moved  slowly  forward,  and 
paused  in  front  of  the  stranger.  Mrs.  Grayson  took  her  small 
white  hands  tenderly,  and  pressing  a  warm  kiss  on  her  lips,  said 
in  a  kind,  winning  tone  : 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Lillian,  ma'am,  but  sister  calls  me  Lilly." 

"  Who  is  'sister'— little  Claudia  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  ;  sister  Beulah."  And  the  soft  blue  eyes  turned 
lovingly  toward  that  gentle  sister. 

"Good  heavens,  Alfred,  how  totally  unlike!  This  is  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  children  I  have  ever  seen,  and  that  gir 
yonder  is  ugly,"  said  the  lady,  in  an  undertone  to  her  husband, 
»rho  was  talking  to  Claudia.  It  was  said  in  a  low  voice,  but 
Bonlah  heard  every  syllable,  and  a  glow  of  shame  for  an  instant 
bathed  her  brow.  Claudia  heard  it  too,  and  springug  from 
Oraysou's  knee,  she  exclaimed  angrily  ; 

"  She   isn't  ugly   any  such  thing  ;   she  is  the  smartest 


22  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

in  tho  Asylum,  and  I  love  her  better  than  anybody  in  tht 
»u  world." 

"  No,  Bculah  is  not  pretty,  but  she  is  good,  and  that  is  far 
better,"  said  the  matron,  laying  her  trembling  hand  on  Beulah's 
shoulder.  A  bitter  smile  curled  the  girl's  lips,  but  she  did  no* 
Eiove  her  eyes  from  Lillian's  face. 

"  Fanny,  if  you  select  that  plain-spoken  little  one,  you  will 
have  some  temper  to  curb,"  suggested  Mr.  Grayson,  somewhat 
amused  by  Claudia's  burst  of  indignation. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  husband,  I  must  have  them  both  :  only  fancy 
how  lovely  they  will  be,  dressed  exactly  alike.  My  little  Lilly, 
and  you  Claudia,  will  you  come  and  be  my  daughters  ?  I  shall 
love  you  very  much,  and  that  gentleman  will  be  your  papa,  lie 
is  very  kind.  You  shall  have  big  was  dolls,  as  high  as  your 
heads,  and  doll-houses,  and  tea-sets,  and  beautiful  blue  and  pink 
Bilk  dresses,  and  every  evening  I  shall  take  you  out  to  ride  in 
my  carriage.  Each  of  you  shall  have  a  white  hat,  with  long, 
curling  feathers.  Will  you  come  and  live  with  me,  and  let  mo 
be  your  mamma  ?" 

Beulah's  face  assumed  an  ashen  hue,  as  she  listened  to  those 
coaxing  words.  She  had  not  thought  of  separation ;  the  evil 
had  never  presented  itself  in  this  form,  and  staggering  forward, 
she  clutched  the  matron's  dress,  saying  hoarsely  : 

"  Oh,  don't  separate  us  !  Don't  let  them  take  Lilly  from  me  1 
I  will  do  anything  on  earth,  I  will  work  my  hands  off ;  oh,  do 
anvthing,  but  please,  oh  please,  don't  give  Lilly  up.  My  own 
darling  Lilly."  Claudia  here  interrupted  : 

*'  I  should  like  to  go  well  enough,  if  you  will  take  Beulah  too 
Lil,  arc  you  going  ?" 

"  No,  no."  Lillian  broke  away  from  the  stranger's  clasping 
arm,  and  rushed  loward  her  sister  ;  but  Miss  White  sat  between 
frhem,  and  catching  the  child,  she  firmly,  though  very  gently, 
beld  her  back.  Lilly  was  very  much  afraid  of  her,  atd  bursting 
into  tears,  she  cried  imploringly  : 

"  Oh,  sister  !  take  me,  take  me  I" 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  2  J 

Beulah  sprang  to  her  side,  and  said  almost  fiercely  :  "  Give  bei 
to  me  :  she  is  mine,  and  you  have  no  right  to  part  us."  She  ea 
tended  her  arms  toward  the  little  form,  struggling  to  reach  her. 

"  The  managers  have  decided  that  it  is  for  the  child's  good, 
that  Mrs.  Grayson  should  adopt  her.  We  dislike  very  much  to 
separate  sisters,  but  it  cannot  be  avoided  ;  whole  families  can't  be 
adopted  by  one  person,  and  you  must  not  interfere.  She  will 
soon  be  perfectly  satisfied  away  from  you,  and  instead  of  encou- 
raging her  to  be  rebellious,  you  ought  to  coax  her  to  behave,  and 
go  peaceably,"  replied  Miss  White,  still  keeping  Beulah  at  arm's 
length. 

"  You  let  go  Lilly  :  you  hateful,  ugly,  old  thing  you  1  She 
shan't  go  if  she  don't  want  to  !  She  does  belong  to  Beulah," 
cried  Claudia,  striding  up  and  laying  her  hand  on  Lilly's  arm 

"  You  spoiled,  insolent  little  wretch  1"  muttered  Miss  White, 
crimsoning  to  the  roots  of  her  fiery  hair. 

"  I  am  afraid  they  will  not  consent  to  go.  Fanny,  suppose 
yon  take  Claudia  ;  the  other  seems  too  reluctant,"  said  Mr.  Gray- 
son,  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  But  I  do  so  want  that  little  bine-eyed  angel.  Cannot  the 
matron  influence  her  ?"  She  turned  to  her  as  she  spoke.  Thus 
appealed  to,  Mrs.  Williams  took  the  child  in  her  arms,  and 
caressed  her  tenderly. 

"  My  dear  little  Lilly,  you  must  not  cry  and  straggle  so. 
Why  will  you  not  go  with  this  kind  lady  ?  she  will  love  you 
very  much." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  !"  sobbed  she,  pressing  her  wet  cheeks 
against  the  matron's  shoulder. 

"But,  Lilly  love,  you  shall  have  everything  you  want.  Eiss 
me  like  a  sweet  girl,  and  say  you  will  go  to  my  beautiful  home. 
I  will  give  you  a  cage  full  of  the  prettiest  canary  birds  you  ever 
looked  at.  Don't  you  love  to  ride  ?  My  carriage  is  waiting  at 
the  door.  Yon  and  Claudia  will  have  such  a  nice  time."  Mrs 
Grayson  knelt  beside  her,  and  kissed  her  tenderly  ;  still  sh« 
?hmg  closer  to  the  matron 


24  BEULAH. 

Beulah  had  covered  her  face  with  her  hand?!,  and  stood 
trembling  like  a  weed  bowed  before  the  rushing  gale.  Sh« 
knew  that  neither  expostulation  nor  entreaty  would  avail  now. 
and  she  resolved  to  bear  with  fortitude,  what  she  could  no' 
avert.  Lifting  her  head,  she  said  slowly  : 

1  If  I  must  give  up  my  sister,  let  me  do  so  as  quietly  as  poa 
wbb.  Give  her  to  me,  then  perhaps  she  will  go  more  willingly 
Do  net  force  her  away  !  Oh,  do  not  force  her  !" 

As  she  uttered  these  words,  her  lips  were  white  and  cold, 
and  the  agonized  expression  of  her  face  made  Mrs.  Grayson 
shiver. 

"  Lilly,  my  darling  !  My  own  precious  darling  !"  she  bent 
over  her  sister,  and  the  little  arms  clasped  her  neck  tightly,  aa 
she  lifted  and  bore  her  back  to  the  dormitory. 

"You  may  get  their  clothes  ready,  Mrs.  Williams.  Real 
assured,  my  dear  Mrs.  Grayson,  they  will  go  now  without  any 
further  difficulty.  Of  course  we  dislike  to  separate  sisters,  but 
it  can't  be  helped  sometimes.  If  you  like,  I  will  show  you  ovei 
the  Asylum  while  the  children  are  prepared."  Miss  White  led 
the  way  to  the  schoolroom. 

"  I  am  very  dubious  about  that  little  one  ;  Fanny,  how  will 
you  ever  manage  two  such  dispositions,  one  all  tears,  and  tbe 
other  all  fire  and  tow  1"  said  Mr.  Grayson. 

"  A  truce  to  your  fears,  Alfred.  We  shall  get  on  charmingly 
after  the  first  few  days.  How  proud  I  shall  be  with  such 
jewels." 

Beulah  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  blue-curtained  bed,  and 
drew  her  idol  close  to  her  heart.  Fhe  k:ssed  the  beautiful  face, 
%n3  smoothed  the  golden  curts  she  had  so  long,  and  so  lovingly 
arranged,  and  as  the  child  returned  her  kisses,  she  felt  as  if  rade 
Lands  were  tearing  her  heart-strings  loose.  But  she  knew  she 
\nust  give  her  up.  There  was  no  effort  within  her  power,  which 
could  avail  to  keep  her  treasure,  and  that  brave  spirit  nerved 
itself.  Not  a  tear  dimmed  her  eye,  uot  a  sob  broke  from  hei 
odorless  lips. 


B  E  r  L  A  n .  25 

•*  Lilly,  my  own  little  sister,  you  must  not  cry  any  more.  Let 
mo  wash  your  face  ;  you  will  make  your  head  ache  if  you  crj 

80." 

"  Oh,  Benlah  !  I  don't  want  to  go  away  from  you." 

"  My  darling,  I  know  you  don't ;  but  you  will  have  a  great 
nany  things  to  make  you  happy,  and  I  shall  come  to  see  you  as 
•ften  as  I  can.  I  can't  bear  to  have  you  go,  either,  but  1 
:annot  help  it,  and  I  want  you  to  go  quietly,  and  be  so  good 
that  the  lady  will  love  you." 

"  But  to-night,  when  I  go  to  bed,  you  mil  not  be  there  to 
hear  me  say  my  prayers.  Oh,  sister  I  why  can't  you  go  ?" 

"  They  do  not  want  me,  my  dear  Lilly,  but  you  can  knee! 
down  and  say  your  prayers,  and  God  will  hear  you  just  as  well 
as  if  you  were  here  with  me,  and  I  will  ask  Him  to  love  you  all 
the  more,  and  take  care  of  you  " 

Here  a  little  arm  stole  round  poor  Beulah's  neck,  and 
•Jlaudia  whispered  with  a  sob  : 

"  Will  you  ask  Him  to  love  me  too  T 

"  Yes,  Claudy,  I  will » 

"  We  will  try  to  be  good.  Oh,  Beulah — I  love  you  so  much, 
so  very  much  1"  The  affectionate  child  pressed  her  lips 
repeatedly  to  Beulah's  bloodless  cheek. 

"  Claudy,  if  you  love  me,  you  must  be  kind  to  my  little  Lilly 
vVhen  you  see  that  she  is  sad,  and  crying  for  me,  you  must 
coax  her  to  be  as  contented  as  possible,  and  always  speak  gently 
to  her.  Will  you  do  this  for  Beulah  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  I  will  !  I  promise  you  I  vill,  and  what  is  more, 
I  will  fight  for  her  I  I  boxed  that  spiteful  Charley's  ears  the 
other  day,  for  vexing  her,  and  I  will  scratch  anybody's  eyes  out 
that  dares  to  scold  her.  This  very  morning  I  pinched  Maggie 
black  and  blue  fo?  bothering  her,  and  I  tell  you  I  shall  not  let 
anybody  impose  on  her."  The  tears  dried  in  her  brilliant  eyes, 
and  she  clinched  her  little  fist  with  an  exalted  opinion  of  her 
protective  powers. 

"  Claudy,  I  do  not  ask  vou  to  fight  for  her  ;  I  want  yoa  to  ' 


26  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

love  her.  Oh,  love  her  !  always  be  kind  to  her,"  murmured 
Beulah. 

"  I  do  love  her  better  than  anything  in  the  world,  don't  I 
Lilly  dear  1"  she  softly  kissed  one  of  the  child's  hands. 

At  this  moment  the  matron  entered,  with  a  large  bundle 
neatly  wrapped  Her  eyes  were  red,  and  there  were  traces  cf 
tears  on  her  cheek  ;  looking  tenderly  clown  upon  the  trio,  sh* 
«aid  very  gently  : 

"  Come,  my  pets,  they  will  not  wait  any  longer  for  you.  I 
hope  you  will  try  to  be  good,  and  love  each  other,  and  Beulah 
Bhall  come  to  see  you."  She  took  Claudia's  hand  and  led  her 
down  the  steps.  Beulah  lifted  her  sister,  and  carried  her  in  her 
arms,  as  she  had  done  from  her  birth,  and  at  every  step  kissed 
her  lips  and  brow. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  were  standing  at  the  front  door  ;  they 
r-oth  looked  pleased,  as  Lilly  had  ceased  crying,  and  the  carriage 
door  was  opened  to  admit  them. 

"  Ah  1  my  dears,  now  for  a  nice  ride  ;  Claudia,  jump  in," 
Maid  Mr.  Grayson,  extending  his  hand  to  assist  her.  She 
paused,  kissed  her  kind  matron,  and  then  approached  Beulah, 
She  could  not  bear  to  leave  her,  and  as  she  threw  her  arms 
around  her,  sobbed  out  : 

"  Good  bye  dear,  good  Beulah.  I  will  take  care  of  Tally. 
Please  love  me,  and  ask  God  for  me  too."  She  was  lifted  iut  j 
the  carriage  with  tears  streaming  over  her  face. 

Beulah  drew  near  to  Mrs.  Grayson,  and  said  in  a  low,  but 
imploring  tone  : 

"  Oh,  madam,  love  my  sister,  and  always  speak  affectionately 
to  her,  then  she  will  be  good  and  obedient.  I  may  come  to  se« 
fccr  often,  may  I  not  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  lady,  in  a  tone  which  chilled  poor 
Beulah's  heart.  She  swallowed  a  groan  of  agony,  and  straining 
the  loved  one  to  her  bosom,  pressed  her  lips  to  Lilly's. 

"  God  bless  my  little  sister,  my  darling,  my  all  1"  She  put  '.h« 
child  in  Mr.  Grajson's  extended  arms,  and  only  saw  that  he» 


B  E  C  L  A  H  .  27 

water  looked  back  appealtngly  to  her.  Miss  White  came  op  nnd 
said  something  which  she  did  not  hear,  and,  turning  hastily  away, 
ehe  went  up  to  the  dormitory,  and  seated  herself  on  Lilly's  vacant 
bed.  The  child  knew  not  how  the  hours  passed  ;  she  sat  with 
her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  until  the  light  of  a  candle  flashed 
into  the  darkened  chamber,  and  the  kind  voice  of  the  matron 
fell  on  her  ear. 

"  Beulah,  will  you  try  to  eat  some  supper  ?    Do,  dear." 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  don't  want  anything." 

"  Poor  child,  I  would  have  saved  you  all  this  had  it  been  ii 
my  power  ;  but,  when  once  decided  by  the  managers,  you  know  .' 
could  not  interfere.  They  disliked  to  separate  you  and  "Lilly t 
but  thought,  that  under  the  circumstances,  it  was  the  best 
arrangement  they  could  make.  Beulah,  I  want  to  tell  you  some- 
thing,  if  you  will  listen  to  me."  She  seated  herself  on  the  edge 
of  the  bed,  and  took  one  of  the  girl's  hands  between  boih  hers. 

"  The  managers  think  it  is  best  that  you  should  go  out  and  ' 
take  a  situation.  ^  I  am  sorry  I  am  forced  to  give  you  up,  very  I 
sorry,  for  you  have  always  been  a  good  girl,  anrf  I  love  you 
dearly  ;  but  these  things  cannot  be  avoided,  and  L  hope  all  will 
turn  out  for  the  best.     There  is  a  place  engaged  for  you,  and 
Miss  White  wishes  you  to  go  to-morrow.     I  trust  you  will   uoi 
have  a  hard  time.     You  are  to  take  care  of  an  infant,  and  the} 
will  give  you  six  dollars  a  mouth  besides  your  board  and  clothes. 
Try  to  do  your  duty,  child,  and  perhaps  something  may  happen 
which  will  enable  you  to  turn  teacher." 

"  Well,  I  will  do  the  best  I  can.  I  do  not  mind  work,  but 
then  Lilly  ;; Her  head  went  down  on  her  arms  once  more. 

"  Yea,  dear,  I  know  it  is  very  hard  for  you  to  part  with  her  5 
but  remember,  it  is  for  her  good.  Mr  Grayson  is  very  wealthy, 
ind  of  course  Lilly  and  Claudy  will  have  " 

"  And  what  is  money  to  my  " Again  she  paused  abruptly. 

"Ah,  child,  you  do  not  begin  to  know  !  Money  is  everything  | 
in  thia  world  to  some  people,  and  more  than  the  next  to  othei  [ 
poor  souls  Well,  well,  I  hope  it  will  prove  for  the  best,  as  fa 


28  BEULAH. 

as  you  are  concerned.  It  is  early  yet,  but  maybe  "you  had  bellei 
go  to  bed,  as  you  are  obliged  to  leave  in  the  morning." 

"  1  could  not  sleep." 

"  God  will  help  you,  dear  child,  if  you  try  to  do  your  duty 
All  of  us  have  sorrows,  and  if  yours  have  begun  early,  they  ma} 
not  last  long.  Poor  little  thing,  I  shall  always  remember  yon  in 
taj  prayers."  She  kissed  her  gently,  and  left  her,  hoping  that 
solitude  would  soothe  her  spirits.  Miss  White's  words  rang  in 
the  girl's  ears  like  a  knell.  "  She  will  soon  be  perfectly  satisfied 
away  from  you." 

"  Would  she  ?  Could  that  idolized  sister  learn  to  do  without 
li^r,  nnd  love  her  new  friends  as  fondly  as  the  untiring  one  who 
bad  cradled  her  in  her  arms  for  six  long  years  ?  A  foreboding 
dread  hissed  continually,  "do  you  suppose  the  wealthy  and 
fashionable  Mrs.  Grayson,  who  lives  in  that  elegant  house  on 
< street,  will  suffer  her  adopted  daughter  to  associate  inti- 
mately with  a  hired  nurse  ?" 

Again  the  light  streamed  into  the  room.  She  buried  her  f'acp 
deeper  in  hei  apron. 

"  Beulah,"  said  a  troubled,  anxious  voice. 

•'  0!i,  Eugene  !"  She  sprang  up  with  a  dry  sob,  and  threv 
herself  into  his  arms. 

''  I  know  it  all,  dear  Beulah  ;  but  come  down  to  Mrs.  Williams' 
70*  /in,  there  is  a  bright  fire  there,  and  your  hands  are  as  cold  as 
ice.  You  will  make  yourself  sick  sitting  here  without  even  a 
shawl  around  you."  He  led  her  down-stairs  to  the  room  occu- 
pied by  the  matron,  who  kindly  took  her  work  to  the  dining- 
room,  and  left  them  to  talk  unrestrainedly. 

"  Sit  down  in  this  rocking-chair  and  warm  your  hands.* 

He  seated  himself  near  her,  and  as  the  firelight  glowed  CO  the 
faces  of  both,  they  contrasted  strangely.  One  was  classical  and 
full  of  youthful  beauty,  the  other  waiij  haggard,  and  sorrow- 
stained.  He  looked  about  sixteen,  and  promised  to  become  a 
strikingly  handsome  man,  while  the  proportions  of  his  polished 
brow  indicated  more  than  ordinary  intellectual  endowments.  He 


BSDLJkB.  29 

matched  -..«s  companion  earnestly,  sadly,  and,  leaning  forward, 
took  one  of  her  hands. 

"  Beulah,  I  see  from  your  face  that  you  have  not  shed  a  sing/« 
Joaj.  I  wish  you  would  not  keep  your  sorrow  so  pent  up  in  you? 
heart.  It  grieves  me  to  see  you  look  as  you  do  now." 

"  Oh  I  I  can't  help  it.  If  it  were  not  for  you  I  believe  \ 
should  die,  I  am  so  very  miserable.  Eugene,  if  you  could  havt 
seen  our  Lilly  cling  to  me,  even  to  the  last  moment.  It  seems  to  me 
:nv  heart  will  break."  She  sank  her  weary  head  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Yes,  darling,  I  know  you  are  suffering  very  much  ;   but 
-emember  that  '  all  things  work  together  for  gocd  to  them  that  \  ^ 
'ove  God.'     Perhaps  he  sees  it  is  best  that  you  ghould  give  her  1 
up  for  awhile,  and  if  so,  will  you  not  try  to  bear  it  cheerfully, 
instead  of  making  yourself  sick  with  useless  grief  ?"     He  gently 
smoothed  the  hair  from  her  brow  as  he  spoke.     She  did  nol 
reply.     He  did  not  expect  that  she  would,  and  continued  in  thf 
same  kind  tone. 

"  I  am  much  more  troubled  about  your  taking  this  situation. 
If  I  had  known  it  earlier  I  would  have  endeavored  to  prevent  it, 
but  I  suppose  it  cannot  be  helped  now,  for  awhile  at  least.  As 
soon  as  possible  I  am  determined  you  shall  go  to  school  ;  and 
remember,  dear  Beulah,  I  am  just  as  much  grieved  at  your  sor- 
.  rows  as  you  are.  In  a  few  years  I  shall  have  a  home  of  my  own, 
and  you  shall  be  the  first  to  come  to  it.  Never  mind  these  dark, 
stormy  days.  Do  you  remember  what  our  minister  said  in  his 
sermon  last  Sunday  ?  '  the  darkest  hour  is  just  before  daybreak.' 
Already  I  begin  to  see  the  '  silver  lining^  of  clouds  that  a  few 
years,  or  even  months  ago,  seemed  heavy  and  cheerless.  I  have 
heard  a  great  deal  about  the  ills  and  trials  of  this  world,  but  I 
ihink  a  brave,  hopeful  spirit,  will  do  much  toward  remedying 
the  evil.  For  my  part,  I  look  forward  to  the  time  when  you  and  I 
I  shall  have  a  home  of  our  own,  and  then  Lilly  and  Claudy  can  „ 
be  with  us.  I  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Mason  about  it  yesterdaj 
ehe  loves  you  very  much,  I  dare  say  all  will  be  right,  so  cheef 
ap,  Beulah,  and  do  look  on  the  bright  side  " 


SO  BtOfcAS. 

"  Eugene,  you  are  the  only  bright  side  I  have  to  look  on 
Sometimes  I  think  you  will  get  tired  of  me,  and  if  you  ever  do, 
I  shall  want  to  die.  Oh,  how  could  I  bear  to  know  you  did  not 
love  me."  She  raised  her  head  and  looked  earnestly  at  his  noble 
face. 

Eugene  laughingly  repeated  her  words. 

"  Get  tired  of  you,  indeed— not  I,  little  sister." 

"Oh,  I  forgot  to  thank  you  for  your  book  :  I  like  it  better 
than  anything  I  erer  read ;  some  parts  are  so  beautiful — so  very 
grand.  I  keep  it  in  my  basket,  and  read  every  moment  I  can 
spare." 

"  1  knew  you  would  like  it,  particularly  '  Excelsior.'  Beulah, 
[  have  written  excelsior  on  my  banner,  and  I  intend,  like  that 
noble  youth,  to  press  forward  over  every  obstacle,  mounting  at 
every  step,  until  I,  too,  stand  on  the  highest  pinnacle,  and  plant 
«ray  banner  where  its  glorious  motto  shall  float  over  the  world. 
That  poem  stirs  my  very  soul  like  martial  music,  and  I  feel  as 
if  I  should  like  to  see  Mr.  Longfellow,  to  tell  him  how  I  thank 
him  for  having  written  it.  I  want  you  to  mark  the  ^ssagcs 
you  like  best ;  and  now  I  think  of  it,  here  is  a  pencil  I  cut  for 
you  to-day." 

He  drew  it  from  his  pocket  and  put  it  into  her  hand,  while 
bis  face  glowed  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you."  Grateful  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes; 
tears  which  acute  suffering  could  not  wring  from  her.  He  saw 
tie  gathering  drops,  and  said,  gaily  : 

"  If  that  is  the  way  you  intend  to  thank  me,  I  shall  bring  you 
w 3  more  pencils.  But  you  look  very  pale,  and  ought  to  be  asleep, 
for  I  have  no  doubt  to-morrow  will  be  a  trying  day  for  you.  Do 
ixert  yourself  to  be  brave,  and  bear  it  all  for  a  little  while  ;  t 
know  it  will  not  be  very  long,  and  I  shall  come  and  see  you  jus* 
as  often  as  possible." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke. 

"  Are  you  obliged  to  go  so  soon  ?  Can't  you  stay  with  mo  ft 
little  longer  ?"  pleaded  Beulah. 


BBULAH.  *     81 

The  boy's  eyes  filled  as  he  looked  at  the  beseeching,  haggard 
face,  and  he  answered  hastily  : 

"  Not  to-night,  Beulah  ;  you  must  go  to  sleep— you  need  it 
Badly." 

"  You  will  be  cold  walking  home.     Let  me  get  yen  a  shawl.* 
"  No,  I  left  my  overcoat  in  the  hall — here  it  is." 
She  followed  him  out  to  the  door,  as  he  drew  it  on  aud  put  on 
bis  cap.    The  moonlight  shone  over  the  threshold,  and  he  thought 
she  looked  ghostly  as  it  fell  upon  her  face.     He  took  her  hand, 
pressed  it  gently,  and  said — 
"  Good  night,  dear  Beulah." 

"  Good  bye,  Eugene.     Do  come  and  see  me  again  soon." 
"  Yes,  I  will.     Don't  get  low-spirited  as  soon  as  I  am  out  of 
sight,  do  you  hear  ?" 

"Yes,  I  hear,  I  will  try  not  to  complain.     Walk  fast  and 
keep  warm." 

*  She  pressed  his  hand  affectionately,  watched  his  receding  form 
as  long  as  she  could  trace  its  outline,  find  then  '•=:(.  nt  slowly  bad 
to  the  dormitory.  Falling  on  her  knees  by  the  side  of  Lilly's 
empty  couch,  she  besought  God,  in  trembling  accents,  to  bless 
her  "  darling  little  sister  and  Claudy,"  aud  to  give  her  strength 
to  perform  all  her  duties  contentedly  and  cheerfully. 


CHAPTER    III. 

BEULAH  stood  waiting  on  the  steps  of  the  large  mansion,  to 

firhich  she  had  been  directed  by  Miss  Dorothea  White.     Her 

seart  throbbed  painfully,  and  her  hand  trembled  as  she  rang  the 

jell.     The  door  was  opened  by  a  negro  waiter,  who  morel; 

lanced  at  her,  and  asked,  carelessly — 


Bfc  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

14  Well,  little  miss,  what  do  you  want  V 

"  Is  Mrs.  Martin  at  home  ?" 

"  Yes,  miss  ;  come,  walk  in.  There  is  but  a  poor  fire  in  th« 
front  parlor — suppose  you  sit  down  in  the  back  room.  Mrs 
Martin  will  be  down  in  a  minute." 

The  first  object  which  arrested  Beulah's  attention  was  a  cen- 
tre table  covered  with  books.  '' Perhaps,"  thought  she,  "  thej 
Will  permit  me  to  read  some  of  them."  While  she  sat  looking 
over  the  titles,  the  rustle  of  silk  caused  her  to  glance  around, 
and  she  saw  Mrs.  Martin  quite  near  her. 

"  Good  morning,"  said  the  lady,  with  a  searching  look,  which 
made  the  little  figure  tremble. 

"  Good  morning,  madam." 

"  You  are  the  girl  Miss  White  promised  to  send  from  thf 
Asylum,  are  you  not  ?" 

"Yes,  madam." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  take  good  care  of  my  baby  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  will  try." 

"You  don't  look  strong  and  healthy — hare  you  been  sick?" 

"No,  I  am  very  well,  thank  you." 

"  I  may  want  you  to  sew  some,  occasionally,  when  the  baby  it 
asleep.  Can  you  hem  and  stitch  neatly  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  sew  very  well,  madam — our  matron  says  so." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  Miss  White  told  me,  but  I  have  for 
gotten  it." 

"  Beulah  Benton." 

"  Well,  Beulah,  I  think  you  will  suit  me  very  well,  if  you  are 
only  careful,  and  attend  to  my  directions.  I  am  just  going  out 
shopping,  but  you  can  come  up-stairs  and  take  charge  of  Johnny, 
Where  are  your  clothes  1" 

"  Our  matron  will  scud  them  to-day." 

Beulah  followed  Mrs.  Martin  up  the  steps,  somewhat  reassured 
by  her  kind  reception.  The  room  was  in  utter  confusion,  the 
toilet-table  covered  with  powder,  hairpins,  bows  of  different 
colored  ribbon,  and  various  bits  of  jewelry;  the  hearth  unswept 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  33 

the  work -stand  groaning  beneath  the  superincumbent  mass  o? 
sewing,  finished  and  unfinished  garments,  working  materials, 
and,  to  crown  the  whole,  the  lady's  winter  hat.  A  girl,  appa- 
rently about  thirteen  years  of  age,  was  seated  by  the  fire,  busilj 
embroidering  a  lamp-mat ;  another,  some  six  years  younger 
iras  dressing  a  doll  ;  while  an  infant,  five  or  six  months  old, 
t'rawled  about  the  carpet,  eagerly  picking  up  pins,  needles, 
/vnd  every  other  objectionable  article  his  little  purple  fingers 
could  grasp. 

"  Take  him,  Beulah,"  said  the  mother. 

She  stooped  to  comply,  and  was  surprised  that  the  little  fel- 
low testified  no  fear  of  her.  She  raised  him  in  her  arms,  and 
kissed  his  rosy  cheeks,  as  he  looked  wonderingly  at  her. 

"  'Ma,  is  that  Johnny's  new  nurse  ?  What  is  her  name  ?" 
said  the  youngest  girl,  laying  down  her  doll  and  carefully  survey- 
ing the  stranger. 

"  Yes,  Annie  ;  and  her  name  is  Beulah,"  replied  the  mother, 
adjusting  her  bonnet. 

"  Beulah — it's  about  as  pretty  as  her  face.     Yes,  just  about," 
continued  Annie,  in  an  audible  whisper  to  her  sister.     The  latter  I 
gave  Beulah  a  condescending  stare,  curled  her  lips  disdainfully  \ 
and  with  a  polite  "  Mind  your  own  business,  Annie,"  returned  tt 
her  embroidery. 

"Keep  the  baby  by  the  fire  ;  and  if  he  frets,  you  must  feed 
him.  Laura,  show  her  where  to  find  his  cup  of  arrowroot,  and 
you  and  Annie  stay  here,  till  I  come  home." 

"  No,  indeed,  'ma,  I  can't,  for  I  must  go  down,  and  practice 
my  music  lesson,"  answered  the  eldest  daughter,  decisively. 

"  Well,  then,  Annie,  stay  in  my  room." 

<:1  am  going  to  make  some  sugar-candy  'ma.  S/ie"  (pointing 
uO  Beulah)  "can  take  care  of  Johnny.  I  thought  that  waf 
what  you  hired  her  for." 

"  You  will  make  no  sugar-candy  till  I  come  home,  Miss  Anniej 
do  you  hear  that  ?  Now,  mind  what  I  said  to  you." 

Mrs.  Martit  rustled  out  of  the  room,  leaviug  Annie 
2* 


34  BEULAH 

ominously  at  the  new  nurse,  and  vent  her  spleen  by  boxing  bfi 
doll,  because  the  inanimate  little  lady  would  not  keep  her  b'ue- 
\  bead  eyes  open.  Bejilaliioyed  children,  and  Johnny  forciblj 
reminded  her  of  earlier  days,  when  she  had  carried  Lilly  about 
in  her  arms.  For  some  time  after  the  departure  of  Mrs.  Martin 
»nd  Laura,  the  little  fellow  seemed  perfectly  satisfied,  but  finally 
|rew  fretful,  and  Beulah  surmised  he  might  be  hungry. 

"  Will  you  please  give  me  the  bab/'s  arrowroot  ?'•" 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it  ;  ask-  Harrison." 

"  Who  is  Harrison  ?" 

"  Why,  the  cook." 

Glancing  around  the  room,  she  found  the  arrowroot ;  the  boy 
was  fed,  and  soon  fell  asleep.  Beulah  sat  in  a  low  rocking-chair, 
^by  the  hearth,  holding  the  infant,  and  washing  the  little  figure 
opposite.  Annie  was  trying  tc  £t  a  ne^  silt  wniht  to  her  uoll, 
but  it  was  too  broad  one  way  and  too  narrow  another.  She 
twisted  and  jerked  it  divers  ways,  but  aH  in  vain  ;  and  at  last, 
disgusted  by  the  experiment,  she  tore  it  off  and  aimed,  it  at  ihe 
fire,  with  an  impatient  cry. 

"  The  plagued,  bothering,  ugly  thing  !  My  Lucia  never  shall 
wear  such  a  fit." 

Beulah  caught  the  discarded  waist,  aud  said,  quietly: 

"  You  can  very  easily  make  it  fit,  by  taking  up  this  seam  and 
"utting  it  out  in  the  neck." 

"  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  Then,  hand  me  the  doll  and  the  scissors  and  I  will  show 
yon." 

"  Her  name  is  Miss  Lucia-di-Lammermoor.  Mr.  Green 
named  her;  don't  say  'doll,'  call  her  by  her  proper  name," 
answered  the  spoiled  child,  handing  over  the  unfortunate  waxen 
representative  of  a  not  less  unfortunate  heroine. 

"  Well,  then,  Miss  Lucia-di-Lammermoor,"  said  Benlah,  smil- 
ing. A  few  alterations  reduced  the  dress  to  proper  dimensions, 
and  Annie  arrayed  her  favorite  in  it,  with  no  slight  degree  of 
tatisfaction.  Tho  obliging  manner  of  the  new  nurse  won  he* 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  85 

ucart,  and  she  began  to  chat  pleasantly  enough.  About  two 
o'clock  Mrs.  Martin  returned,  inquired  after  Johnny,  and  again 
absented  herself  to  "  see  about  dinner."  Beulah  was  very  weary 
of  the  close,  disordered  room,  and  as  the  babe  amused  himself 
with  his  ivory  rattle,  she  swept  the  floor,  dusted  the  furniture, 
und  arranged  the  chairs.  The  loud  ringing  of  a  bell  startled 
ber,  and  she  conjectured  dinner  was  ready.  Some  time  elapsed 
before  any  of  the  family  returned,  and  then  Laura  entered,  look- 
ing very  sullen.  She  took  charge  of  the  babe,  and  rather 
ungraciously  desired  the  nurse  to  get  her  dinner. 

"  1  do  not  wish  any,"  answered  Beulah. 

At  this  stage  of  the  conversation  the  door  opened,  and  a  boy, 
seemingly  about  Eugene's  age,  entered  the  room.  He  looked 
curiously  at  Beulah,  inclined  his  head  slightly,  and  joined  his 
eister  at  the  fire. 

"  How  do  you  like  her,  Laura  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  distinct  under 
tone. 

"  Oh  !  I  suppose  she  will  do  well  enough  ;  but  she  is  horridly 
ngly,"  replied  Laura,  in  a  similar  key. 

"  I  don't  know,  sis.  It  is  what  Dr.  Patton,  the  lecturer  on 
physiognomy,  would  call  a  '  striking '  face." 

"  Yes,  strikingly  ugly,  Dick.  Her  forehead  juts  over,  like  the 
eaves  of  the  kitchen,  and  her  eyebrows  r 

"  Hush  !  she  will  hear  you.  Come  down  and  play  that  new 
waltz  for  me,  like  a  good  sister."  The  two  left  the  room. 
Beulah  had  heard  every  word;  she  could  not  avoid  it,  and  as 
she  recalled  Mrs.  Grayson's  remark  concerning  her  appearance 
on  the  previous  day,  her  countenance  reflected  her  intense  morti- 
fication. She  pressed  her  face  against  the  window-paue  and 
jtared  vacantly  out.  The  elevated  position  commanded  a  fine 
riew  of  the  town,  and  on,  the  eastern  horizon  the  blue  waters  of 
Jhe  harbor  glittered  with  "  silvery  sheen."  At  any  other  timet 
and  with  different  emotions,  Beulah's  love  of  the  beautiful  would 
oave  been  particularly  gratified  by  this  extended  prospect  ;  but 
ww  the  whole  possessed  no  charms  for  her  darkened  spirit.  For 


36  BKULAH. 

the  moment,  earth  was  black-hucd  to  her  gaze  ;  she  only  sa* 
"  horribly  ugly,"  inscribed  on  sky  and  water.  Her  soul  seemed 
to  leap  forward  and  view  nearer  the  myriad  motes  that  floated 
in  the  haze  of  the  future.  She  leaned  over  the  vast  whirri  ng 
lottery  wheel  of  life,  and  saw  a  blank  come  up,  with  her  name 
stamped  upon  it.  But  the  grim  smile  faded  from  her  lips,  and 
brave  endurance  looked  out  from  the  large  sad  eyes,  as  she 
murmured, 

"  Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle ; 
Be  a  hero  in  the  strife." 

"  If  I  am  ugly,  God  made  me  so,  and  I  know  '  He  doeth  all 
things  well.'  I  will  not  let  it  bother  me;  I  will  try  not  to  think 
of  it.  But,  oh  !  I  am  so  glad,  I  thank  God,  that  he  made  my 
Lilly  beautiful.  She  will  never  have  to  suffer,  as  I  do  now. 
My  own  darling  Lilly  1"  Large  drops  glbisnecJ  in  her  eyes;  she 
rarely  wept ;  but  though  the  tears  did  not  fall,  they  gathered 
often  in  the  grey  depths.  The  evening  passed  very  quietly;  Mr. 
Martin  was  absent  in  a  distant  State,  whither,  as  travelling 
agent  for  a  mercantile  house,  be  was  often  called.  After  tea, 
when  little  Johnny  had  been  put  to  sleep  in  his  crib,  Mrs.  Martin 
directed  Annie  to  show  the  nurse  her  own  room.  Taking  a 
candle,  the  child  complied,  aud  her  mother  ordered  one  of  the 
servants  to  carry  up  the  truc-k  containing  Beulah's  clothes.  Up, 
up,  two  weary,  winding  flights  of  steps,  the  little  Annie  toiled, 
and  pausing  at  the  landing  of  the  second,  pointed  to  a  low  attic 
chamber,  lighted  by  dormer  windows  on  the  east  and  west 
The  floor  was  uncovered;  the  furniture  consisted  of  a  narrow 
t.ruudle-bed,  wash-stand,  a  cracked  looking-glass  suspended  frond 
a  nail,  a  small  deal  table,  and  a  couple  of  chairs.  There  were, 
•:  so,  some  hooks  driven  into  the  wall,  to  hang  clothes  upoi?.. 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid  to  sleep  here,  because  the  boarders 
occupy  the  rooms  on  the  floor  below  this;  and  besides,  you  know 
"obbers  never  get  up  to  the  garret,"  said  Annie,  glancing  around 
ihe  apartment,  and  shivering  with  an  undefined  tlread,  rathta 


B  E  TJ  L  A  H  .  37 

rhan  with  cold,  though  her  nose  and  fingers  were  pnrple,  and 
this  garret-chamber  possessed  neither  stove  nor  chimney. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  ;  but  this  is  only  one  garret-room,  are  ths 
ethers  occupied  ?" 

"  Yes,  by  carpets  in  summer,  and  rats  in  winter,"  laughed 
A  auie. 

"  I  suppose  I  may  have  a  candle  ?"  said  Beulah,  as  the  port«» 
deposited  hei  trunk  and  withdrew. 

"  Yes,  this  one  is  for  you.  Ma  is  always  uneasy  about  fire, 
BO  don't  set  anything  in  a  blaze  to  keep  yourself  warm.  Here, 
hold  the  light  at  the  top  of  the  steps  till  I  get  down  to  the  next 
floor,  then  there  is  a  hall-lamp.  Good  night." 

"  Good  night."  Beulah  bolted  the  door,'  and  surveyed  her 
new  apartment.  Certainly  it  was  sufficiently  cheerless,  but  its 
Isolated  position  presented  to  her  a  redeeming  feature.  Thought 
she,  "  I  can  sit  up  here,  and  read  just  as  late  as  I  please.  Oh  ! 
[  shall  have  so  much  time  to  myself  these  long,  long  nights." 
Unpacking  her  trunk,  she  hung  her  dresses  on  the  hooks,  placed 
the  books  Mrs.  Mason  and  Eugene  had  given  her  on  the  table, 
and  setting  the  candle  beside  them,  smiled  in  anticipation  of  the 
many  treats  in  store  for  her.  She  read  several  chapters  in  her 
Bible,  and  then,  as  her  head  ached  and  her  eyes  grew  heavy, 
she  sank  upon  her  knees.  Ah  1  what  an  earnest,  touching  peti- 
tion ascended  to  the  throne  of  the  Father  ;  prayers,  first  for 
Lilly  and  Claudia,  and  lastly  for  herself. 

"  Help  me,  oh  Lord  1  not  to  be  troubled  and  angry  waen  1 

hear  that  I  am  so  ugly;  and  make  me  remember  that  I  am  yoni 

child."     Such  was  her  final  request,  and  she  soon  slepf  soundly 

*egardless  of  the  fact  that  she  was  now  thrown  upon  the  wide 

hough  not  altogether  cold  or  unloving  worii. 


3  K  U  L  L  H 


CHAPTER    IV. 

Dir  after  day  passed  monotonously,  and  except  a  visit  fror* 
M-sgene,  there  was  no  link  added  to  the  chain  which  bound  Beu 
lah  to  the  past.  That  brief  visit  encouraged  and  cheered  th« 
lonely  heart,  yearning  for  affectionate  sympathy,  yet  striving  t( 
hush  the  hungry  cry  and  grow  contented  with  its  lot.  During 
the  second  week  of  her  stay,  little  Johnny  was  taken  sick,  and 
he  had  become  so  fond  of  his  new  attendant,  that  no  one  else 
veas  permitted  to  hold  him.  Often  she  paced  the  chamber  floor 
for  hours,  lulling  the  fretful  babe  with  softly  sung  tunes  of  other 
days,  and  the  close  observer,  who  could  have  peered  at  such 
Limes  into  the  down-cast  eyes,  might  have  easily  traced  in  the 
misty  depths  memories  that  nestled  in  her  heart's  sanctuary. 
The  infant  soon  recovered,  and  one  warm,  sunny  afternoon, 
when  Mrs.  Martin  directed  Beulah  to  draw  him  in  his  wicker 
carriage  up  and  down  the  pavement  before  the  door,  she  could 
no  longer  repress  the  request,  which  had  trembled  on  her  lips 
more  than  once,  and  asked  permission  to  take  her  little  charge 
to  Mrs.  Grayscirs.  A  rather  reluctant  assent  was  given,  and 
Boon  the  carriage  was  drawn  in  the  direction  of  Mr.  Graysou's 
elegant  city  residence.  A  marvellous  change  came  over  the  wait 
face  of  the  nurse  as  she  paused  at  the  marble  steps,  guarded  on 
either  side  by  sculptured  lions.  "  To  see  Lilly  :"  the  blood 
Bprang  to  her  cheeks,  and  an  eager  look  of  delight  crept  into 
the  eyes.  The  door  was  partially  opened  by  an  insolent-looking 
footman,  whose  hasty  glance  led  him  to  suppose  her  one  of  the 
cunerous  supplicants  for  charity,  who  generally  left  that  princely 
mansion  as  empty-handed  as  they  came.  He  was  about  to  close 
the  door;  but  undaunted  by  this  reception,  she  hastily  asked  tc 
we  Mrs.  Grayson,  and  Lillian  Benton. 

"  Mrs.  Grayson  is  engaged,  and  there  is  no  such  person  heM 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  39 

«a  Lillian  Benton.  Miss  Lilly  Grayson  is  my  young  mistress 
name  ;  but  I  can  tell  you,  her  mamma  don't  suffer  her  to  see  th« 
like  of  you  ;  so  be  off." 

"  Lilly  is  my  sister,  and  I  must  see  her.  Tell  Mrs.  Graysou 
Beulah  Benton  wishes  to  see  her  sister  ;  and  ask  her  also  if 
Claudia  may  not  see  me." 

She  dropped  the  tongue  of  the  carriage,  and  the  thin  hands 
clutched  each  other  in  an  agony  of  dread,  lest  her  petition 
should  be  refused.  The  succeeding  five  minutes  seemed  an 
eternity  to  her,  and  as  the  door  opened  again,  she  leaned 
forward,  and  held  her  breath,  like  one  whose  fate  was  in  the 
balance.  Costly  silk  and  dazzling  diamonds  met  her  gaze 
The  settled  lines  of  Mrs.  Grayson's  pretty  mouth  indicated  that 
she  had  a  disagreeable  duty  to  perform,  yet  had  resolved  to  do 
it  at  once,  and  set  the  matter  forever  at  rest. 

"  You  are  Mrs.  Martin's  nurse  I  believe,  and  the  girl  I  saw  at 
the  asylum  ?"  said  she,  frigidly. 

"  Yes,  madam,  I  am  Lilly's  sister  ;  you  said  I  might  come  and 
Bee  her.  Oh,  if  you  only  knew  how  miserable  I  have  been 
since  we  were  parted,  you  would  not  look  so  coldly  at  me!  Do, 
please,  let  me  see  her.  Oh,  don't  deny  me." 

These  words  were  uttered  in  a  tone  of  imploring  agony. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  you  happen  to  be  her  sister,  and  I  assure 
you,  child,  it  pains  me  to  refuse  you  ;  but  whet:  you  remember 
the  circumstances,  you  ought  not  to  expect  to  associate  with  hei 
as  you  used  to  do.  She  will  be  educated  to  move  in  a  circle  very  } 
far  above  you,  and  you  ought  to  be  more  than  willing  to  give  her  * 
up,  when  you  know  how  Iccky  she  has  been  in  securing  a  home 
of  wealth.  Besides,  she  is  getting  over  the  separation  very 
nicely  indeed,  and  if  she  were  to  see  you  even  once,  it  would  raak« 
matters  almost  as  bad  as  ever.  I  daresay  you  are  a  good  girl, 
and  will  not  trouble  me  any  further.  My  husband  and  I  are 
anwilliug  that  you  should  see  Lilly  again  ;  and  though  I  am 
very  sorry  I  am  forced  to  disappoint  you,  I  feel  that  I  am  doing 
ri^ht." 


40  B  E  U  I,  A  H  . 

The  petitioner  fell  on  her  knees,  and  extending  her  arms,  said 
huskily  : 

"  Oh,  madam  !  are  we  to  be  parted  forever  ?  I  pray  you,  iu 
the  name  of  God,  let  me  see  her  1  let  me  see  her  !" 

Mrs.  Grayson  was  not  a  cruel  woman,  far  from  it,  but  she  wa| 
itrangely  weak  and  worldly.  The  idea  of  a  hired  nurse  associ- 
ating familiarly  with  her  adopted  daughter  was  repulsive  to  hef 
aristocratic  pride,  and  therefore  she  hushed  the  tones  of  true 
womanly  sympathy,  and  answered  resolutely  : 

"  It  pains  me  to  refuse  you  ;  but  I  have  given  good  reasons, 
and  cannot  think  of  changing  my  determination.  I  hope  you 
will  not  annoy  me  by  any  future  efforts  to  enter  my  house  There 
is  a  present  for  you.  Good  evening." 

She  tossed  a  five-dollar  gold  piece  toward  the  kneeling  figure, 
and  closing  the  door,  locked  it  on  the  inside.  The  money  rolled 
ringingly  down  the  steps,  and  the  grating  sound  of  the  key,  as  it 
was  hurriedly  turned,  seemed,typical  of  the  unyielding  lock  which 
now  forever  barred  the  child's  hopes.  The  look  of  utter  despair 
gave  place  to  an  expression  of  indescribable  bitterness.  Springing 
from  her  suppliant  posture,  she  muttered  with  terrible  emphasis : 

I"  A  curse  on  that  woman  and  her  husband  1  May  God  answer 
their  prayers  as  she  has  answered  mine  1" 

Picking  up  the  coin  which  lay  glittering  on  the  side-walk,  sho 
threw  it  forcibly  against  the  door,  and  as  it  rebounded  into  the 
street,  took  the  carriage  tongue,  and  slowly  retraced  her  steps. 
It  was  not  surprising  that  passers-by  gazed  curiously  at  the  stony 
face,  with  its  large  eyes,  briniful  of  burning  hate,  as  the  injured 
orphan  walked  mechanically  on,  unconscious  that  her  lips  were 
crushed  till  purple  drops  oozed  over  them.  The  setting  SUB 
flashed  his  ruddy  beams  caressingly  over  her  brow,  and  whisper- 
ing winds  lifted  tenderly  the  clustering  folds  of  jetty  hair  ;  but 
nature's  pure-hearted  darling  had  stood  over  the  noxious  tarn, 
whence  the  poisonous  breath  of  a  corrupt  Immunity  rolled  up- 
ward, and  the  once  sinless  child  inhaled  the  vapor  until  her  son] 
ras  a  great  boiling  Marah.  Ah,  truly 


DEULAH.  41 

"There  are  swift  hours  ii  life — strong,  rushing  aour»-— 
That  do  the  work  of  tempest?  in  their  might!" 

Peaceful  valleys,  green  and  flowery,  sleeping  in   loneliness, 
have  been  upheaved,  and  piled  in  sombre,  jagged  masses,  against 
the  sky,  by  the  fingering  of  an  earthquake  ;   and  gentle,  loving, 
trusting   hearts,  over   whose  altars  brooded  the   white-winged 
messengers  of  God's  peace,  have  been  as  suddenly  transformed 
by  a  manifestation  of  selSshness  and  injustice,  into  gloomy  haonti 
of  misanthropy.     Had  Mrs.  Grayson  been  arraigned  for  cruelty,  \ 
or  hard-heartedness,  before  a  tribunal  of  her  equals  (i.  e.  fashion^!*'' 
able  friends),  the  charge  would  have  been  scornfully  repelled,  j 
and  unanimous  would  have  been  her  acquittal.     "Hard-hearted! 
oh  no,  she  was  only  prudent  and  wise."     Who  could  expect  her 
to   suffer   her  -  pampered,    inert  darling  to  meet   and   acknow 
ledge  as  an  equal,  the  far-less-daiutily-fed    and  elegantly  clad 
sister,  whom  God  called  to  labor  for  her  frugal  meals  ?  Ah,  this 
fine-ladyism,  this  ignoring  of  labor,  to  which,  in  accordance  with 
the  divine  decree,  all  should  be  subjected  ;  this  false-effeminacy, 
and  miserable  affectation  of  refinement,  which  characterizes  the 
age,  is  the  unyielding  lock  on  the  wheels  of  social  reform  and  , 
advancement. 

Beulah  took  her  charge  home,  and  when  dusk  came  on,  rocked 
him  to  sleep,  and  snugly  folded  the  covering  of  his  crib  over  the 
little  throbbing  heart,  whose  hours  of  trial  were  yet  veiled  by  the 
impenetrable  curtain  of  futurity.  Mrs.  Martin  and  her  elder 
children  had  gone  to  a  concert,  and,  of  course,  the  nurse  was  to 
remain  with  Johnny  until  his  mother's  return.  Standing  beside 
the  crib,  and  gazing  down  at  the  rosy  cheeks  and  curling  locks, 
tiestled  against  the  pillow,  Beulah's  thoughts  winged  along  th« 
Sear-stained  past,  to  the  hour  when  Lilly  had  been  placed  in  her 
arms,  by  emaciated  hands  stiffening  in  death.  For  six  years  sha 
bad  held,  and  hushed,  and  caressed  her  dying  father's  last  charge,  | 
»nd  now  strange  ru/hless  fingers  hai  torn  the  clinging  heart 
strings  from  the  idol.  There  were  10  sobs,  nor  groans,  to  voici 


12  B  K  U  L  A  H  . 

the  anguish  of  the  desolate  orphan.  The  glittering  eyes  were  tea* 
less,  but  the  brow  was  darkly  furrowed,  the  ashy  lips  writhed, 
and  the  folded  hands  were  purple  from  compression.  Turning 
from  the  crib,  she  threw  up  the  sash,  and  seated  herself  on  the 
window-sill.  Below  lay  the  city,  with  its  countless  lamps  gleam- 
ing in  every  direction,  and  stretching  away  on  the  principa. 
itreets,  like  long  processions ;  in  the  distance  the  dark  waters  at 
the  river,  over  which  steamboat-lights  flashed  now  and  then  like 
ignes-fatui  ;  and  above  her  arched  the  dome  of  sky,  with  its  fiery 
r  fret-work.  Never  before  had  she  looked  up  at  the  starry  groups, 
without  an  emotion  of  exulting  joy,  of  awful  adoration.  To  her 
worshipping  gaze  they  had  seemed  glimpses  of  the  spirit's  home: 
nay,  loring  eyes  shining  down  upon  her  thorny  pathway.  But 
now,  the  twinkling  rays  fell  unheeded,  impotent  to  pierce  the 
sable  clouds  of  grief.  She  sat  looking  out  into  the  night,  with 
strained  eyes  that  seemed  fastened  upon  a  corpse.  An  hour 
passed  thus,  and  as  the  clan™  of  the  town  clock  died  away,  the 
shrill  voice  of  the  watchman  rang  through  the  air  : 

"  Nine  o'clock  ;  and  all's  well  1" 

Beulah  lifted  her  head  and  listened.  "  ALL'S  WELL  !"  The 
mockery  maddened  her,  and  she  muttered  audibly  : 
(V '  I  "  That  is  the  sort  of  sympathy  I  shall  have  through  life.  I  am 
to  hear  that  'all  is  well '  when  my  heart  is  dying,  nay,  dead  within 
me  1  Oh,  if  I  could  only  die  !  What  a  calm,  calm  time  I  should 
have  in  my  coffin  !  Nobody  to  taunt  me  with  my  poverty  and 
ugliness  !  Oh,  what  did  God  make  me  for  ?  The  few  years  of 
my  life  have  been  full  of  misery  ;  I  cannot  remember  one  single 
day  of  pure  happiness,  for  there  was  always  something  to  spoil 
what  little  joy  I  ever  knew.  When  I  was  born,  why  did  not  i 
die  at  once  ?  And  why  did  not  God  take  me  instead  of  my  dear; 
dear  father  ?  He  should  have  been  left  with  Lilly,  for  people 
love  the  beautiful,  but  nobody  will  ever  care  for  me.  I  am  of  no 
ose  to  anything,  and  so  ugly,  that  I  hate  myself.  0,  Lord,  I 
uoirt  want  to  live  another  day  !  I  am  sick  of  ray  life — take  me, 
jiko  me  I"  But  a  feeble  ray  of  comfort  stole  into  her  shivering 


BBULAH.  43 

neart,  as  she  bowed  her  head  upon  her  hands  ;  Eugene  Graham 
loved  her :  and  the  bleeding  tendrils  of  affection  henceforth 
clasped  him  as  their  only  support.  She  was  aroused  from  her 
painful  reverie  by  a  movement  in  the  crib,  and,  hastening  to  her 
charge,  was  startled  by  the  appearance  of  the  babe.  The  soft 
blue  eyes  were  rolled  up  and  set,  the  face  of  a  purplish  hue,  and 
the  delicate  limbs  convulsed.  During  her  residence  at  the  Asylum 
fche  had  more  than  once  assisted  the  matron  in  nursing  children 
similarly  affected  ;  and  now,  calling  instantly  for  a  tub  of  water, 
she  s  jon  immersed  the  rigid  limbs  in  a  warm  bath,  while  one  of  the 
waiters  was  dispatched  for  the  family  physician.  When  Dr. 
Hartwell  entered,  he  found  her  standing,  with  the  infant  clasped 
tightly  in  her  arms,  and  as  his  eyes  rested  curiously  upon  her 
face,  she  forgot  that  he  was  a  stranger,  and  springing  to  meet 
him,  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  sir,  will  he  die  V 

With  his  fingers  on  the  bounding  pulse,  he  answered: 

"  He  is  very  ill.     Where  is  his  mother  ?     Who  are  you  ?" 

"  His  mother  is  at  a  concert,  and  I  am  his  nurse." 

The  spasms  had  ceased,  but  the  twitching  limbs  told  that  they 
might  return  any  moment,  and  the  physician  immediately  ad- 
ministered a  potion. 

"  How  long  will  Mrs.  Martin  be  absent  ?" 

"  It  is  uncertain.     When  shall  I  give  the  medicine  again  ?" 

"  I  shall  remain  until  she  comes  home." 

Beulah  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  floor,  with  Johnny  in  her 
arms;  Dr.  Hurtwell  stood  on  the  hearth,  leaning  his  elbow  on 
the  mantelpiece,  and  watching  the  slight  form  as  it  stole  softly 
to  and  *vo.  Gradually  the  child  became  quiet,  but  his  nurs« 
kept  up  ner  wath.  Dr.  Hartwell  s.'.id  abruptly: 

"  Sit  down,  girl!  you  will  walk  yourself  into  a  shadow." 

She  lifted  her  head,  shook  it  in  reply,  and  resumed  her  mea 
tread. 

4  W  hat  is  your  name  I" 

"B*ulahBenton,v 


14  BEULAB. 

"Beulah!"  repeated  the  doctor,  while  a  smile  flitted  over  hii 
rmistachcd  lip  She  observed  it,  and  exclaimed,  with  bitter 
emphasis: 

"You  need  not  tell  me  it  is  unsuitable;  I  know  it;  I  feel  it 
Beulah!  Bculah!  Oh  my  father  1  I  have  neither  sunshine  not 
flowers,  nor  hear  the  singing  of  birds,  nor  the  voice  of  the  turtle 
foil  ought  to  have  called  me  MARAH." 

"You  have  read  the  'Pilgrim's  Progress'  then?"  said  he, 
with  a  searching  glance. 

Either  she  did  not  hear  him,  or  was  too  entirely  engrossed  by 
painful  reflection  to  frame  an  answer.  The  despairing  expression 
settled  upon  her  face,  and  the  broken  threads  of  memory  wove 
on  again. 

"  Beulah!  how  came  you  here  in  the  capacity  of  nurse  ?" 

"  I  was  driven  here  by  necessity." 

"  Where  are  your  parents  and  friends  ?" 

"  I  have  none.     I  am  alone  in  the  world." 

"  How  long  have  you  beeu  so  dependent  ?" 

She  raised  her  hand  deprecatingly,  nay  commandingly,  as 
though  she  had  said: 

"  No  more.  You  have  not  the  right  to  question,  nor  I  the 
will  to  answer." 

He  marked  the  look  of  unconquerable  grief,  and  understand 
ing  her  gesture,  made  no  more  inquiries. 

Soon  after,  Mrs.  Martin  returned,  and  having  briefly  stated 
what  had  occurred,  and  given  directions  for  the  child's  treat- 
iment,  he  withdrew.  His  low  "  good  night,"  gently  spoken  to  the 
purse,  was  only  acknowledged  by  a  slight  inclination  of  the  head, 
es  he  passed  her.  Little  Johnny  was  restless,  and  constantly 
threatened  with  a  return  of  the  convulsions.  His  mother  held  him 
ov.  her  knee,  and  telling  Beulah  she  "  had  been  a  good,  sensible 
girl,  to  bathe  him  so  promptly,"  gave  her  permission  to  retire. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sleepy,  and  would  rather  stay  here,  and 
turse  him.  He  does  not  moan  so  much  when  I  walk  with  hiio 
olive  Mm  back  to  me." 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  45 

'Bo*,  you  will  be  tired  out'"7 

"  I  shall  not  mind  it."  Stooping  down,  she  lifted  the  restless 
boy,  and  wrapping  his  cljak  about  him,  commenced  the  same 
noiseless  tread.  Thus  the  night  waned;  occasionally  Mrs.  Mar- 
tin rose  and  felt  her  babe's  pulse,  and  assisted  in  giving  the 
hourly  potions,  then  reseated  herself,'  and  allowed  the  hireling 
to  walk  on.  Once  she  offered  to  relieve  her,  but  the  arms 
refused  to  yield  their  burden.  A  little  after  four,  the  mothei 
slept  soundly  in  her  chair.  Gradually  the  stars  grew  dim,  am' 
the  long,  undulating  chain  of  clouds  that  girded  the  eastern 
horizon  kindied  into  a  pale  orange,  that  transformed  them  into 
<nountains  of  topaz  Pausing  by  the  window,  and  gazing 
•racantly  out,  Beulah't.  eyes  were  suddenly  riveted  on  the  gor- 
geous pageant,  which  untiring  nature  daily  renews,  and  she 
stood  walcliing  the  masses  of  vapor  painted  by  coming  sunlight, 
and  floating  slowly  before  the  wind,  until  the  "King  of  Day" 
flashed  up  and  dazzled  her.  Mrs.  Martin  was  awakened  by  the 
entrance  of  one  of  the  servants,  and  starting  up,  exclaimed: 

"Bless  me!  I  have  been  asleep.  Beulah,  how  is  Johnny? 
You  must  be  tired  to  death." 

"He  is  sleeping  now  very  quietly;  I  think  he  is  better;  his 
fever  is  not  so  high.  I  will  take  care  of  him,  and  you  had 
better  take  another  nap  before  breakfast." 

Mrs.  Martin  obeyed  the  nurse's  injunction,  and  it  was  two 
hours  later  when  she  took  her  child,  and  directed  Beulah  to  get 
her  breakfast.  But  the  weary  girl  felt  no  desire  for  the  meal, 
and  retiring  to  her  attic  room,  bathed  her  eyes,  and  replaited 
her  hair.  Kneeling  beside  her  bed,  she  tried  to  pray,  but  the 
words  died  on  her  lips;  and  too  miserable  to  frame  a  petition, 
§he  returned  to  the  chambe:  where,  in  sad  vigils,  she  had  spent 
the  night.  Dr.  Hartwell  bowed  as  she  entered,  but  the  head 
was  bent  down,  and  without  glancing  at  him,  she  took  the  fret 
Ful,  suffering  child,  and  walked  to  the  window.  While  she 
stood  there,  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  loved  face  of  her  best  friend 
Eugene  Graham  *vas  crossing  the  street  For  an  instant  the 


16  BEULAU. 

burning  blood  surged  over  her  wan,  sickly  cheeks,  and  the  pak 
lips  parted  in  a  smile  of  delight,  as  she  leaned  forward  to  sea 
whether  he  was  coming  in.  The  door  bell  rang,  and  she  sprang 
frosi  the  window,  unconscious  of  the  piercing  eyes  fastened  upou 
her.  Hastily  laying  little  Johnny  on  his  mother's  lap,  she 
merely  said: 

"  1  will  be  back  soon,"  and,  darting  down  the  steps,  met 
Eugene  at  the  entrance,  throwing  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
hiding  her  face  on  his  shoulder. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Beulah  ?  Do  tell  me,"  said  he,  anx 
iously. 

Briefly  she  related  her  fruitless  attempt  to  see  Lilly,  and 
pointed  out  the  nature  of  the  barrier  which  must  forever  sepa- 

Irate  them.  Eugene  listened  with  flashing  eyes,  and  several  times 
the  word  "  brutal "  escaped  his  lips.  He  endeavored  to  comfort 
her  by  holding  out  hopes  of  brighter  days,  but  her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  shadows,  and  his  cheering  words  failed  to  call  up  a 
smile.  They  stood  in  the  hall  near  the  front  door,  and  here  Dr 
Hartwell  found  them,  when  he  left  the  sick-room.  Eugene 
looked  up  as  he  approached  them,  and  stepped  forward  with  a 
smile  of  recognition  to  shake  the  extended  hand.  Bculah's  coun- 
tenance became  instantly  repellent,  and  she  was  turning  away 
when  the  doctor  addressed  her  : 

"You  must  feel  very  much  fatigued  from  being  up  all 
night.  I  know  from  your  looks  that  you  did  not  close  your 
eyes." 

"  I  am  no  worse  looking  than  usual,  thank  you,"  she  replied, 

icily,  drawing  back  as  she  spoke,  behind  Eugene.    The  doctor 

left  them,  and  as  his  buggy  rolled  from  the  door,  Beulah  seemed 

r   to  breathe  freely  again.     Poor  child  ;  her  sensitive  nature  had 

eo  often  been  deeply  wounded  by  the  thoughtless  remarks  of 

strangers,  that  she  began  to  shrink  from  all  observation,  as  the 

?     surest  mode  of  escaping  pain.     Eugene  noticed  her  manner,  and 

biting  his  lips  with  vexation,  said  reprovingly : 

"Beulah,  you  were  very  rude  to  Dr.  Hartwell.     Politeness 


BEUT-Afl.  4? 

eostg  nothing,  and  you  might  at  least  have  answered  his  question 
with  ordinary  civility." 

Her  eyelids  drooped,  and  a  tremor  passed  over  her  mouth,  as 
ghe  answered  meekly: 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  be  rude  ;  but  I  dread  to  have  peopl 
ook  at,  or  speak  to  me." 

"Why,  pray?" 

"  Because  I  am  so  ugly,  and  they  are  sure  to  show  rne  that 
they  see  it." 

He  drew  his  arm  protectingly  around  her,  and  said  gently  ; 
'•  Poor  child  ;  it  is  cruel  to  make  you  suffer  so.  But  rest  assured 
Dr.  Hartwell  will  never  wound  your  feelings.  I  have  heard  that 
he  was  a  very  stern  and  eccentric  man,  though  a  remarkably 
learned  ono,  yet  I  confess  there  is  something  in  his  manner  which 
fascinates  rne,  and  if  you  will  only  be  like  yourself  he  will  always 
speak  kindly  to  you.  But  I  am  staying  too  long.  Don't  look 
so  forlorn  and  ghostly.  Positively  I  hate  to  come  to  see  you, 
for  somehow  your  wretched  face  haunts  me.  Here  is  a  book  1 
have  just  finished  ;  perhaps  it  will  serve  to  divert  your  mind." 
He  put  a  copy  of  "Irving's  Sketch  Book"  in  her  hand,  and 
drew  on  his  gloves. 

"  Oh,  Eugene,  can't  you  stay  a  little  longer  ;  just  a  little 
longer  ?  It  seems  such  a  great  while  since  you  were  here." 
She  looked  up  wistfully  into  the  handsome,  boyish  face. 

Drawing  out  an  elegant  new  watch,  he  held  it  before  her  eyeb 
and  answered  hurriedly: 

"  See  there  ;  it  is  ten  o'clock,  and  I  am  behind  my  appoint- 
ment  at  the  lecture-room.  Good  bye  ;  try  to  be  cheerful.  '  What 
can't  be  cured  must  be  endured,'  you  kaow,  co  do  not  despond, 
llrar  Beulah."  Shaking  her  hand  cordially,  he  raa  down  the 
nops.  The  orphan  pressed  her  hands  tightly  over  her  brow,  as 
if  to  stay  some  sudden,  painful  thought,  and  slowly/ 
the  stairs. 


BIULAtt. 


CHAPTER    V  . 

LITTLK  Johnny's  illness  proved  long  and  serious,  and  for  manj 
days  and  nights  he  seemed  on  the  verge  of  the  tomb.  His  wail 
ings  were  never  hushed  except  in  Beulah's  arms,  and  as  might 
be  supposed,  constant  watching  soon  converted  her  into  a  mere 
shadow  of  her  former  self  Dr.  Hartwell  often  advised  rest  and 
fresh  air  for  her,  but  the  silent  shake  of  her  head  proved  how 
reckless  she  was  of  her  own  welfare.  Thus  several  weekH 
elapsed,  and  gradually  the  sick  child  grew  stronger.  One  after- 
noon Beulah  sat  holding  him  on  her  kuee  ;  he  had  fallen  asleep, 
with  one  tiny  hand  clasping  hers,  and  while  he  slept  she  read. 
Absorbed  in  the  volume  Eugens  had  given  her,  her  thoughts  wan- 
dered on  with  the  author,  amid  the  moldering  monuments  of 
Westminster  Abbey,  and  finally  the  sketch  was  concluded  by 
that  solemn  paragraph  :  "  TLi-s  man  passes  away  ;  his  name 
perishes  from  record  and  recollection  ;  his  history  is  as  a  talo 
that  is  told,  and  his  very  monument  becomes  a  ruin."  Again  shn 
read  this  sad  comment  on  the  vanity  of  earth,  and  its  ephemeral 
hosts,  and  her  mind  was  filled  with  weird  images,  that  looked 
f  out  from  her  earnest  eyes.  Dr.  Hartwell  entered  unperceived, 
\  and  stood  for  some  moments  at  the  back  of  her  chair,  glancing 
over  her  shoulder  at  the  last  page.  At  length  she  closed  thp 
book,  and  passing  her  hand  wearily  over  her  eyes,  said 
audibly: 

"  Ah  1  if  we  could  only  hare  sat  down  together  in  that  gloomy 
garret,  and  had  a  long  talk  I  It  would  have  helped  us  both. 
Poor  Chatterton  1  I  know  just  how  you  felt,  when  you  locked 
y  :>ur  door  and  lay  down  on  your  truckle-bed,  and  swallowed 
your  last  draught  1" 

"  There  is  not  a  word  about  Chatterton  in  that  sketch,"  said 
the  doctor. 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  49 

She  started,  looked  up,  and  answered  slowly  : 

"  No,  not  a  word,  not  a  word.  He  was  buried  among  pau- 
pers, you  know." 

"  What  made  you  think  of  him  ?" 

"  I  thought  that  instead  of  resting  in  the  Abbey,  under  sculp- 
tured marble,  his  bones  were  scattered,  nobody  knows  where 
I  often  think  of  him." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Because  he  was  so  miserable  and  uncared-for ;  because 
sometimes  I  feel  exactly  as  he  did."  As  she  uttered  these  words, 
she  compressed  her  lips  in  a  manner  which  plaiuly  said,  "  There  1 
I  have  no  more  to  say,  so  do  not  question  me." 

He  had  learned  to  read  her  countenance,  and  as  he  felt  the  J 
infant's  pulse,  pointed  to  the  crib,  saying': 

"  You  must  lay  him  down  now  ;  he  seems  fast  asleep." 

"  No,  I  may  as  well  hold  him." 

"  Girl,  will  you  follow  my  directions  ?"  said  he,  sharply. 

Beulah  looked  up  at  him  for  a  moment,  then  rose  and  placed 
the  boy  in  his  crib,  while  a  sort  of  grim  smile  distorted  her  fea- 
tures. The  doctor  mixed  some  medicine,  and  setting  the  glass 
on  the  table,  put  both  hands  in  his  pockets  and  walked  up  to 
the  nurse.  Her  head  was  averted. 

"  Beulah,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  look  at  me  ?"  She 
fixed  her  eyes  proudly  on  his,  and  her  beautiful  teeth  gleamed 
through  the  parted  lips. 

"  Do  you  know  that  Eugene  is  going  away  very  soon,  to  bo 
absent  at  least  fire  years  ?" 

An  incredulous  smile  flitted  over  her  face,  but  the  ashen  hue 
of  death  settled  there. 

"  I  am  in  earnest.  He  leaves  for  Europe  next  week,  to  be 
gone  a  long  time." 

She  extended  her  hands  pleadingly,  and  said  in  a  hoarse 
whisper  : 

"  Are  you  sure  ?" 

"  Quite  sure  ;  his  passage  is  already  engaged  in  a  packet  that 


50  BEULAH. 

will  sail  early  next  week.    What  will  Decome  of  yaa  io  hii 
absence  ?" 

The  strained  eyes  met  his,  vacantly  ;  the  icy  hands  dropped, 
and  she  fell  forward  against  him. 

Guy  Hartwell  placed  the  slight  attenuated  form  on  the  sofa 
and  stood  with  folded  arms  looking  down  at  the  colorless  face. 
His  high  white  brow  clouded,  and  a  fierce  light  kindled  in  his 
piercing,  dark  eyes,  as  through  closed  teeth  came  the  rather 
indistinct  words  : 

"  It  is  madness  to  indulge  the  thought ;  I  was  a  fool  to  dream 
of  it.  She  would  prove  heartless,  like  all  of  her  sex,  and  repay 
me  with  black  ingratitude.  Let  her  fight  the  battle  of  life 
unaided." 

He  sprinkled  a  handful  of  water  in  the  upturned  face,  and  :^i 
a  few  minutes  saw  the  eyelids  tremble,  and  knew  from  the  look 
of  suffering,  that  with  returning  consciousness  came  the  keen 
pangs  of  grief.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  alter 
a  little  while,  asked  : 

"  Shall  I  ever  see  him  again  ?" 

"  He  will  come  here  to-night  to  tell  you  about  his  trip.  But 
what  will  become  of  you  in  his  absence  ? — answer  me  that  1" 

"  God  only  knows  1" 

Dr.  Hartwell  wrote  the  directions  for  Johnny's  medicine,  and 
placing  the  slip  of  paper  on  the  glass,  took  his  hat  and  left  the 
room.  Beulah  sat  with  her  head  pressed  against  the  foot  of  the 
crib — stunned,  taking  no  note  of  the  lapse  of  time. 

"  Twilight  grey, 

Had  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  clad." 

The  room  had  grown  dark,  save  where  a  mellow  ray  stole 
through  the  western  window.  Beulah  rose  mechanically,  lighted 
the  lamp,  and  shaded  it  so  as  to  shield  the  eyes  of  the  sleeping 
boy.  The  door  was  open,  and  glancing  up,  she  saw  Eugene  on 
the  threshold.  Her  arms  were  thrown  around  him,  with  a  kn? 
cry  of  mingled  joy  and  grief. 


BEULAH.  61 

"  Oh,  Eugene  !  please  don't  leave  me  !  Whom  have  I  n.  the 
rorld  but  you  ?" 

"Beulah,  dear,  I  must  go.  Only  think  of  the  privilege  of 
being  at  a  German  University!  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  piect 
of  good  luck.  Don't  cry  so  ;  I  shall  come  back  some  of  these 
days,  such  an  erudite,  such  an  elegant  young  man,  you  will 
hardly  know  me.  Only  five  years.  I  am  almost  seventeen  now  j 
time  passes  very  quickly,  and  you  will  scarcely  miss  me  before  I 
shall  be  at  home  again." 

He  lifted  up  her  face,  and  laughed  gaily  as  he  spoke. 

"  When  are  you  to  go  ?" 

"  The  vessel  sails  Wednesday — three  days  from  now.  I  shall 
be  very  busy  until  then.  Beulah,  what  glorious  letters  I  shall 
write  you  from  the  old  world  !  I  am  to  see  all  Europe  before 
I  return  ;  that  is,  my  father  says  I  shall.  He  is  coming  on,  in 
two  or  three  years,  with  Cornelia,  and  we  are  all  to  travel  toge 
ther.  Won't  it  be  glorious  ?" 

"  Yes,  for  you.  But,  Eugene,  my  heart  seems  to  die,  when  I 
think  of  those  coming  five  years.  How  shall  I  live  without  you  T 
Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  There,  Beulah  I  do  not  look  so  wretched.  You  will  have  a 
thousand  things  to  divert  your  mind.  My  father  says  he  will 
see  that  you  are  sent  to  the  public  school.  You  know  the  tui 
tion  is  free,  and  he  thinks  he  can  find  some  good,  kind  family, 
where  you  will  be  taken  care  of  till  your  education  is  finished. 
Your  studies  will  occupy  you  closely,  and  you  will  have  quite 
enough  to  think  of,  without  troubling  yourself  about  my  absence. 
Of  course,  you  will  write  to  me  constantly,  and  each  letter  will 
be  (ike  having  a  nice,  quiet  chat  together.  Oh,  dear  !  can't  you 
get  np  a  smile,  and  look  less  forlorn  ?  You  never  would  look  oa 
he  bright  side." 

"Because  I  never  had  any  to  look  on,  except  you  and  Lilly  ; 
and  when  you  are  gone,  everything  will  be  dark — dark  1"  sh« 
groaned,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 

"  Not  unless  you  determine  to  make  it  so.     If  I  did  net  know 


52  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

that  m/  father  would  attend  to  your  education,  I  should  not  b« 
^~so  delighted  to  go.  Certainly,  Beulah,  in  improving  yourself, 
you  will  have  very  little  leisure  to  sit  down  and  repine  that  youl 
lot  is  not  among  the  brightest.  Do  try  to  hope  that  things  may 
change  for  the  better.  If  they  do  not,  why,  I  shall  not  spend 
eternity  in  Europe  ;  and  when  I  come  home,  of  course,  I  shall 
take  care  of  you  myself." 

She  stood  with  one  hand  resting  on  his  arm,  and  while  he 
talked  on,  carelessly,  of  her  future,  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  his  coun- 
tenance, thinking  of  the  desolate  hours  in  store  for  her,  when 
the  mighty  Atlantic  billows  surged  between  her  and  the  noble 
classic  face  she  loved  so  devotedly.  A  shadowy  panorama  of 
Doming  years  glided  before  her,  and  trailing  clouds  seemed 
gathered  about  the  path  her  little  feet  must  tread.  A  vague 
foreboding  discovered  to  her  the  cheerlcssness,  and  she  shivered 
m  anticipating  the  dreariuess  that  awaited  her.  But  there  was 
time  enough  for  the  raging  of  the  storm  ;  why  rush  so  eagerly 
to  meet  it  ?  She  closed  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the  grim  vision, 
&nd  listened  resolutely  to  the  plans  suggested  for  her  approval. 
When  Eugene  rose  to  say  "  good  night,"  it  was  touching  to  note 
the  eiforts  she  made  to  appear  hopeful  ;  the  sob  swallowed,  lest 
it  should  displease  him  ;  the  trembling  lips  forced  into  a  smile, 
and  the  heavy  eyelids  lifted  bravely  to  meet  his  glance.  When 
I  he  door  closed  after  his  retreating  form,  the  hands  were  clasped 
convulsively,  and  the  white,  tearless  face,  mutely  revealed  the 
desolation  which  that  loving  heart  locked  in  its  darkened 


B  E  U  L  A  a  ,  5  b 


CHAPTER    VI. 

SEVERAL  tedious  weeks  had  rolled  away,  since  Eugen« 
Graham  left  his  sunny  southern  home,  to  seek  learning  in  the 
venerable  universities  of  the  old  world.  Blue-eyed  May,  the 
carnival  mouth  of  the  year,  had  clothed  the  earth  with  verdure, 
and  enamelled  it  with  flowers  of  every  hue,  scattering  her  trea- 
sures before  the  rushing  car  of  summer.  During  the  winter, 
scarlet  fever  had  hovered  threateningly  over  the  city,  but  as  the 
spring  advanced,  hopes  were  entertained  that  all  danger  -had 
passed.  Consequently,  when  it  was  announced  that  the  disease 
had  made  its  appearance  in  a  very  malignant  form,  in  the  hcuse 
adjoining  Mrs.  Martin's,  she  determined  to  send  her  children 
immediately  out  of  town.  A  relative  living  at  some  distance  uj. 
the  river,  happened  to  be  visiting  her  at  the  time,  and  as  shf 
intended  returning  home  the  following  day,  kindly  offered  to 
take  charge  of  the  children,  until  all  traces  of  the  disease  had 
vanished.  To  this  plan,  Beulah  made  no  resistance,  though  the 
memory  of  her  little  sister  haunted  her  hourly.  What  could 
she  do  ?  Make  one  last  attempt  to  see  her,  and  if  again 
refused,  then  it  mattered  not  whither  she  went.  When  the  pre- 
parations for  their  journey  had  been  completed,  and  Johnny 
slept  soundly  in  his  crib,  Beulah  put  on  her  old  straw-bonnet, 
and  set  out  for  Mr.  Grayson's  residence.  The  sun  was  low  in 
the  sky,  and  the  evening  breeze  rippling  the  waters  of  the  bay, 
stirred  the  luxuriant  foliage  of  the  ancient  china-trees  that 
bordered  the  pavements.  The  orphan's  heart  was  heavy  with 
nndeGned  dread  ;  such  a  dread  as  had  oppressed  her  the  day  of 
oer  separation  from  her  sister. 

"  Coming  events  cast  theh  shadows  before," 
%nd  she  was  conscious  that  the  sun-set  glow  could  not  dispel 


(Hi  BRULAH. 

the  spectral  gloom  which  enveloped  her.  She  walked  OL.  will 
her  head  bowed,  like  one  stooping  from  an  impending  blow  and 
when  at  last  the  crouching  lions  confronted  her,  she  felt  as  if 
her  heart  had  suddenly  frozen.  There  stood  the  doctor's  buggy 
She  sprang  up  the  steps,  and  stretched  out  her  hand  for  the 
bolt  of  the  door.  Long  streamers  of  crape  floated  through  hef 
fingers.  She  stood  still  a  moment,  then  threw  open  the  door 
and  rushed  in.  The  hall  floor  was  covered  to  muffle  the  tread 
not  a  sound  reached  her,  save  the  stirring  of  the  chiua-trees 
outside.  Her  hand  was  on  the  balustrade  to  ascend  the  steps, 
but  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  piece  of  crape  fastened  to  the  parlor 
iloor,  and  pushing  it  ajar  she  looked  in.  The  furniture  was 
draped  ;  even  the  mirrors,  and  pictures,  and  on  a  small  oblong 
'-able  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  lay  a  shrouded  form.  An 
overpowering  perfume  of  crushed  flowers  filled  the  air,  and 
Beulah  stood  on  the  threshold,  with  her  hands  extended,  and 
her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  table.  There  were  two  children; 
Lilly  might  yet  live,  and  an  unvoiced  prayer  went  up  to  God, 
that  the  dead  might  be  Claudia.  Then  like  scathing  lightning 
came  the  recollection  of  her  curse  ;  "  May  God  answer  their 
prayers,  as  they  answered  mine."  With  rigid  limbs  she  tottered 
to  the  table,  and  laid  her  hand  on  the  velvet  pall;  with  closed 
eyes  she  drew  it  down,  then  held  her  breath  and  looked.  There 
lay  her  idol,  in  the  marble  arms  of  death.  Ah  !  how  match- 
lessly beautiful,  wrapped  in  her  last  sleep  I  The  bright  golden 
curls  glittered  around  the  snowy  brow,  and  floated  like  wander- 
ing sunlight  over  the  arms  and  shoulders.  The  tiny  waxen 
fingers  clasped  each  other  as  in  life,  and  the  delicately  chiselled 
lips  were  just  parted,  as  though  the  sleeper  whispered.  Beu« 
laVo  gaze  dwelt  upon  this  mocking  loveliness,  then  the  arms 
were  thrown  wildly  up,  and  with  a  long,  wailing  cry,  her  head 
sank  heavily  on  the  velvet  cushion,  beside  the  cold  face  of  her 
dead  darling.  How  long  it  rested  there,  she  never  knew 
Earth  seemed  to  pass  away  ;  darkness  closed  over  her,  and  for 
a  time  she  had  no  pain,  no  sorrow  ;  she  and  Lilly  were 


BEULAH  5fl 

together.  All  was  black,  and  she  had  no  feeling.  Then  she  wai 
lifted,  and  the  motion  aroused  her  torpid  faculties  ;  she  moaned 
and  opened  her  eyes.  Dr.  Hartwell  was  placing  her  on  a  sofa, 
and  Mrs.  Graysou  stood  by  the  table  with  a  handkerchief  over 
her  eyes.  With  returning  consciousness  came  a  raving  despair  f 
Beulah  sprang  from  the  strong  arm  that  strove  to  detain  her 
aad  laying  one  clinched  hand  on  the  folded  fingers  of  the  dead, 
raised  the  other  fiercely  toward  Mrs.  Grayson,  and  exclaimed 
almost  frantically  : 

"  You  have  murdered  her  I     I  knew  it  would  be  so,  when 
you  took  my  darling  from  my  arms,  and  refused  my  prayer  ! 
Aye  1  my  prayer  !     I  knelt  and  prayed  you  in  the  name  of  God, 
to  let  me  see  her  once  more  ;  to  let  me  hold  her  to  my  heart, 
and  kiss  her  lips,  and  forehead,  and  little  slender  hands.     You 
ccorned  a  poor  girl's  prayer  ;  you  taunted  me  with  my  poverty, 
and  locked   me  from  my  darling,   my  Lilly  I    my  all  1      Oh, 
woman  !  you  drove  me  wild,  and  I  cursed  you  and  your  hus- 
band.    Ha  !  has  your  wealth  and  splendor  saved  her  ?     God  j 
have  mercy  upon  me  ;  I  feel  as  if  I  could  curse  you  eternally. 
Could  you  not  have  sent  for  me  before   she  died  ?     Oh,   if  I 
could  only  have  taken  her  in  my  arms,  and  seen  her  soft  angel 
eyes  looking  up  to  me,  and  felt  her  little  arms  arouad  my  neck, 
and  heard  her  say  '  sister '  for  the  last  time  !     Would   it  have  j 
taken  a  dime  from  your  purse,  or  made  you  less  fashionable,  to  j 
have  sent  for  me  before  she  died  ?     '  Such  measure  as  ye  mete, ' 
shall  be  meted  to  you  again.'     May  you  live  to  have  your  heart 
tiauipled  and  crushed,  even  as  you  have  trampled  mine  1" 

Her  arm  sank  to  her  side,  and  once  more  the  blazing  eyes 
were  fastened  on  the  young  sleeper  ;  while  Mrs.  Graysou,  cower- 
ing like  a  frightened  child,  left  the  room.  Beulah  fell  on  hci 
knees,  and  crossing  her  arms  on  the  table,  bowed  her  head  ; 
now  ard  then,  broken,  wailing  tones  passed  the  white  lips 
Doctor  llartwell  stood  in  a  recess  of  the  window,  witk  folded 
arms  and  tightly  compressed  mouth,  watching  the  young 
mourner.  Once  he  moved  toward  her,  then  drew  back,  and  e 


56  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

derisive  smile  distorted  his  features,  as  though  he  scorned  Mm 
self  for  the  momentary  weakness.  lie  turned  suddenly  away, 
and  reached  the  door,  but  paused  to  look  back.  The  old  straw 
bonnet,  with  its  faded  pink  ribbon,  had  fallen  off,  and  heavy  folds 
of  black  hair  veiled  the  bowed  face.  lie  noted  the  slight, 
quivering  form,  and  the  thin  hands,  and  a  look  of  remorseful 
agony  swept  over  his  countenance.  A  deadly  pallor  settled  on 
cheek  and  brow,  as,  with  an  expression  of  iron  resolve,  he 
retraced  his  steps,  and  patting  his  hand  on  the  orphan'? 
shoulder,  said  gently  : 

"  Beulah,  this  is  no  place  for  you.     Come  with  me,  child." 

She  shrank  from  his  touch,  and  put  up  one  hand,  waving  him 
off. 

"  Your  sister  died  with  the  scarlet  fever,  and  Claudia  is  now 
very  ill  with  it. — If  you  stay  here  you  will  certainly  take  it  your- 
eelf." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  take  it." 

He  laid  his  fingers  on  the  pale,  high  brow,  and  softly  drawing 
back  the  thick  hair,  said  earnestly  :  "  Beulah,  come  home  with 
me.  Be  my  child  :  my  daughter." 

Again  her  hand  was  raised  to  put  him  aside. 

"  No  :  you  too  would  hate  me  for  my  ugliness.  Let  me  hide 
it  in  the  grave  with  Lilly.  They  cannot  separate  us  there." 
He  lifted  her  head  ;  and,  looking  down  into  the  haggard  face, 
answered  kindly — 

"  I  promise  you  I  will  not  think  you  ugly.  I  will  make  you 
fcappj.  Come  to  me,  child."  She  shook  her  head  with  a  moan. 
Passing  his  arm  around  her,  he  raised  her  from  the  carpet,  and 
Yaned  her  head  against  him. 

"  Poor  little  sufferer  1  they  have  made  you  drink,  prematnreljj 
earth's  bitter  draughts.  They  have  disenchanted  your  childhood 
of  its  fairy- like  future.  Beulah,  you  are  ill  now.  Do  not  struggle 
«o.  You  must  come  with  me,  my  child."  He  took  her  in  hia 
Btrong  arms,  and  bore  her  out  of  the  house  of  death.  His  buggj 
itood  at  the  door,  aud,  seating  himself  in  it,  he  directed  the  boj 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  5? 

who  accompanied  him  to  "drive  home."  Beulah  offered  n: 
resistance  ;  she  hid  her  fuce  in  her  hands,  and  sat  quite  still, 
scarcely  conscious  of  what  passed.  She  knew  that  a  firm  arm 
held  her  securely,  and,  save  her  wretchedness,  knew  nothing  else. 
Soon  she  was  lifted  out  of  the  buggy,  carried  up  a  flight  of  steps, 
and  then  a  flood  of  light  flashed  through  the  fingers,  upon  he* 
closed  eyelids.  Doctor  Hartwell  placed  his  charge  on  a  sofa, 
and  rang  the  bell.  The  summons  was  promptly  answered  by  a 
negro  woman  of  middle  age.  She  stood  at  the  door  awaiting  the 
order,  but  his  eyes  were  bent  on  the  floor,  and  his  brows  knitted. 

"  Master,  did  you  ring  ?" 

"  Yes,  tell  my  sister  to  come  to  me.r 

He  took  a  turn  across  the  floor,  and  paused  by  the  open  win- 
c^w  As  the  night  air  rustled  the  brown  locks  on  his  temples, 
he  sighed  deeply.  The  door  opened,  and  a  tall,  slender  woman, 
of  perhaps  thirty-five  years,  entered  the  room.  She  was  pale  and 
handsome,  with  a  profusion  of  short  chestnut  curls  about  her  face. 
With  her  hand  resting  on  the  door,  she  said,  in  a  calm,  clear  tone- 

"  Well,  Guy." 

He  started,  and,  turning  from  the  window,  approached  her. 

"  May,  I  want  a  room  arranged  for  this  child  as  soon  as  po» 
sible.  Will  you  see  that  a  hot  foot-bath  is  provided.  When  »< 
is  ready,  send  Harriet  for  her." 

His  sister's  lips  curled  as  she  looked  searchingly  at  the  figun 
an  the  sofa,  and  said  coldly  : 

"  What  freak  now,  Guy  ?" 

For  a  moment  their  eyes  met  steadily,  and  he  smiled  grimly. 

"  I  intend  to  adopt  that  poor  little  orphan  ;  that  is  all  1" 

"  Where  did  you  pick  her  up,  at  the  hospital  ?"  said  she,  sneet 


"  No,  she  has  been  hired  as  a  nurse,  at  a  boarding-house  * 
Be  folded  his  arms,  and  again  they  looked  at  each  other. 

"  I  thought  you  had  had  quite  enough  of  proteges."  She  ner 
^ously  clasped  and  unclasped  her  jet  bracelet. 

"  Take  o.are,  May  Chilton  !  Mark  me.  Lift  the  pall  from  *U4 
-3* 


58  BEULAH. 

past  once  more,  ami  you  and  Pauline  must  find  another 
another  protector.  Now,  •will  you  see  that  a  room  is  prepared 
as  I  directed  ?"  He  was  very  pale,  and  his  eyes  burned  fiercely, 
yet  his  toue  was  calm  and  subdued.  Mrs.  Chilton  bit  her  lips> 
iiid  withdrew.  Doctor  Hartwell  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
'or  awhile,  now  an^  then  looking  sadly  at  the  young  stranger 
She  sat  just  as  he  had  placed  her,  with  her  hands  over  her  face 
Kindly  he  bent  down  and  whispered  : 

"  Will  you  trust  me,  Beulah  ?" 

She  made  no  answer,  but  he  saw  her  brow  wrinkle,  and  knew 
that  she  shuddered.  The  servant  came  in  to  say  that  the  room 
bad  been  arranged,  as  he  had  directed.  However  surprised  she 
raight  have  been  at  this  sudden  advent  of  the  simply  clad  orphan 
{n  her  master's  study,  there  was  not  the  faintest  indication  of  it 
in  her  impenetrable  countenance.  Not  even  the  raising  of  an 
eyebrow. 

"  Harriet,  see  that  her  feet  are  well  bathed  ;  and,  when  she  ia 
ID.  bed,  come  for  some  medicine," 

Then,  drawing  the  hands  from  her  eyes,  he  said  to  Beulah. 

"  Go  with  her,  my  child.  I  am  glad  I  have  you  safe  under 
my  own  roof,  where  no  more  cruel  injustice  can  assail  you." 

He  pressed  her  hand  kindly,  and,  rising  mechanically,  Beulah 
accompanied  Harriet,  who  considerately  supported  the  drooping 
form.  The  room  to  which  she  was  conducted  was  richly  fur- 
nished, and  lighted  by  an  elegant  colored  lamp,  suspended  from 
the  ceiling.  Mrs.  Chilton  stood  near  an  arm-chair,  looking  moody 
and  abstracted.  Harriet  carefully  undressed  the  poor  mourner, 
and  wrapping  a  shawl  about  her,  placed  her  in  the  chair,  and 
bathed  her  feet.  Mrs.  Chilton  watched  her  with  ill-concealed 
impatience.  When  the  little  dripping  feet  were  dried,  Harrie4 
lifted  her,  as  if  she  had  been  an  infant,  and  placed  her  in  bed, 
t&en  brought  the  medicine  from  the  study,  and  administered  a 
spoonful  of  the  mixture.  Placing  her  finger  on  the  girl's  wrist, 
-ihe  counted  the  rapid  pulse,  and,  turning  unconcernedly  toward 
Mrs.  Chilton.  said : 


B  B  U  L  A  H  .  58 

"  Miss  May.  master  says  you  need  not  trouble  about  lh« 
ucdieiue.  I  am  to  sleep  in  the  room  and  take  care  of  this 
little  girl." 

"  Very  well.  See  that  she  is  properly  attended  to,  as  in) 
brother  directed.  My  head  aches  miserably,  or  I  should  remaia 
myself." 

She  glanced  at  the  bed,  and  left  the  room.  Harriet  leaned 
&rer  the  pillow  and  examined  the  orphan's  countenance.  The 
eyes  vsre  closed,  but  scalding  tears  rolled  swiftly  over  the 
cheeks,  and  the  hands  were  clasped  over  the  brow,  as  if  to  still 
its  throbbings.  Harriet's  face  softened,  and  she  said,  kindly : 

"  Poor  thing  !  what  ails  you  ?    What  makes  you  cry  so  ?" 

Beulab  pressed  her  head  closer  to  the  pillow,  and  murmured  : 

"  I  am  so  miserable  !  I  want  to  die,  and  God  will  not  take  me." 

"  Don't  say  that,  till  you  see  whether  you've  got  the  scarlet- 
fever.  If  you  have,  you  are  likely  to  be  taken  pretty  soon,  I 
can  tell  you  ;  and  if  you  haven't,  why,  it's  all  for  the  best.  It 
is  a  bad  plan  to  fly  in  the  Almighty's  face,  that  way,  and  tell 
him  what  he  shall  do,  and  what  he  shan't." 

This  philosophic  response  fell  unheeded  on  poor  Beulah's  ears, 
and  Harriet  was  about  to  inquire  more  minutely  into  the  cause 
of  her  grief,  but  she  perceived  her  master  standing  beside  her, 
and  immediately  moved  away  from  the  bed.  Drawing  out  his 
watch,  he  counted  the  pulse  several  times.  The  result  seemed 
to  trouble  him,  and  he  stood  for  some  minutes  watching  the 
motionless  form. 

"  Harriet,  bring  me  a  glass  of  ice-water." 

Laying  his  cool  hand  on  the  hot  forehead  of  the  suffering  girl, 
be  said,  tenderly  : 

"  My  child,  try  not  to  cry  any  more  to-night.  It  is  verj 
bitter,  I  know  ;  but  remember,  that  though  Lilly  has  been 
taken  from  you,  from  this  day  you  have  a  friend,  a  home,  a 
guardian." 

Harriet  proffered  the  glass  of  water.  He  took  it,  raised  thi 
head,  and  put  the  sparkling  draught  to  Beulah's  parched  Up§ 


60  B  E  TJ  L  A.  H  . 

Without  unclosing  her  eyes,  she  rlrank  the  last  crystal  drop, 
and  laying  the  head  back  on  the  pillow,  he  drew  an  arm-diaij 
before  the  window  at  the  further  end  of  the  room,  and  seated 
himself 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THROUGH  quiet,  woody  dells  roamed  Beulah's  spirit,  and,  hand 
in  hand,  she  and  Lilly  trod  flowery  paths  and  rested  beside 
clear,  laughing  brooks  Life,  with  its  grim  realities,  seemed  but 
a  flying  mist.  The  orphan  hovered  on  the  confines  of  eternity's 
ocean,  and  its  silent  waves  almost  laved  the  feet  of  the  weary 
child.  The  room  was  darkened,  and  the  summer  wind  stole 
through  the  blinds  stealthily,  as  if  awed  by  the  solitude  of  the 
sick-chainber.  Dr.  Hartwell  sat  by  the  low  French  bedstead, 
holding  one  emaciated  hand  in  his,  counting  the  pulse  which 
bounded  so  fiercely  in  the  blue  veins.  A  fold  of  white  linen 
containing  crushed  ice  lay  on  her  forehead,  and  the  hollow 
cheeks  and  thin  lips  were  flushed  to  vermilion  hue.  It  was  not 
scarlet,  but  brain-fever,  and  this  was  the  fifth  day  that  the 
sleeper  had  lain  in  a  heavy  stupor.  Dr.  Hartwell  put  back  the 
hand  he  held,  and  stooping  over,  looked  long  and  anxiously  at  tho 
Hushed  face.  The  breathing  was  deep  and  labored,  and  turning 
away,  he  slowly  and  noiselessly  walked  up.  and  down  the  floor. 
To  have  looked  at  him  then,  in  his  purple  silk  robe  dt  chamlre, 
one  would  have  scarcely  believed  that  thirty  years  had  passed 
over  his  head.  lie  was  tall  and  broad-chested,  his  head  massive 
and  well  formed,  his  face  a  curious  study.  The  brow  was 
Expansive  and  almost  transparent  in  its  purity,  the  dark,  baae1 
tyes  were  singularly  brilliant,  while  the  contour  of  lips  and  chfi 
WHS  partially  concealed  by  a  heavy  moustache  and  beard.  Th« 
first  glance  at  his  face  impressed  strangers  by  its  extreme  pallor, 
bat  iu  a  second  look  they  were  fasciuated  by  the  taisty  splendoi 


BETTLAH.  Q\ 

flf  the  eyes.  In  truth  those  were  strange  eyes  of  Gay  Hartwell 
A.1  times,  searching  and  glittering  like  polished  steel  ;  occasion 
ally  lighting  up  with  a  dazzling  radiance,  and  then  as  suddenlj 
growing  gentle,  hazy,  yet  luminous  ;  resembling  the  clouded 
aspect  of  a  star  seen  through  a  thin  veil  of  mist.  His  brown, 
mrling  hair  was  thrown  back  from  the  face,  and  exposed  the 
outline  of  the  ample  forehead.  Perhaps  utilitarians  would  have 
r,arped  at  the  feminine  delicacy  of  the  hands,  and  certainly  the 
fingers  were  slender  and  marvellously  white.  On  one  hand  he  wore 
an  antique  ring,  composed  of  a  cameo  snake-head  set  round  with 
diamonds.  A  proud,  gifted  and  miserable  man  was  Guy  Hart- 
well,  and  his  characteristic  expression  of  stern  sadness  might  easily 
have  been  mistaken  by  casual  observers  for  bitter  misanthropy.  ] 

I  have  said  he  was  about  thirty,  and  though  the  handsome 
face  was  rcpellently  cold  and  grave,  it  was  difficult  to  believe 
that  that  smooth,  fair  brow,  had  been  for  so  many  years  uplifted 
for  the  handwriting  of  time.  He  looked  just  what  he  was,  a 
baffling,  fascinating  mystery.  You  felt  that  his  countenance  I 
was  a  volume  of  hieroglyphics,  which,  could  you  decipher, 
would  unfold  the  history  of  a  checkered  and  painful  career. 
Yet  the  calm,  frigid  smile  which  sat  on  his  lip,  and  looked  out 
defiantly  from  his  deep-set  eyes,  seemed  to  dare  you  to  an  investi- 
gation. Mere  physical  beauty  cannot  impart  the  indescribable 
charm  which  his  countenance  possessed.  Regularity  of  features 
is  a  valuable  auxiliary,  but  we  look  on  sculptured  marble,  per- 
fect in  its  chiselled  proportions,  and  feel  that,  after  all,  the 
potent  spell  is  in  the  raying  out  of  the  soul,  that  imprisoned 
radiance  which,  in  some  instances,  makes  man  indeed  but  "  little 
lower  than  the  angels."  He  paused  in  his  echoless  tread,  and"  • 
<jat  down  once  more  beside  his  protegee.  She  had  not  changed 
her  position,  and  the  long  lashes  lay  heavily  on  the  crimson 
cheeks.  The  parched  lips  were  parted,  and,  as  he  watched  her. 
ehe  murmured  aloud  : 

"  It   is   so   sweet,    Liily ;    we   will   stay  here   always."      A 
lhadowy  smile  Bossed  her  face,  and  then  a  great  agony 


1)2  B  E  H  I,  A  fe  . 

to  possess  her,  for  she  moaned  long  and  bitterly.  He  tried  U 
arouse  her,  and,  for  the  first  time  since  the  night  she  entered  hi* 
kouse,  she  opened  her  eyes  and  gazed  vacantly  at  him. 
"  Are  you  in  pain,  Beulali  ?  Why  do  you  moan  so  ?" 
"  Eugene,  I  knew  it  would  be  so,  when  you  left  me." 
"Don't  you  know  me,  Beulah  ?"  He  put  his  face  close  to 
cers.  "  They  killed  her,  Eugene  !  I  told  you  they  would  ;  the) 
are  going  to  bury  her  soon.  But  the  grave  can't  hide  her  ;  I  am 
going  down  with  her  into  the  darkness — she  would  be  frightened, 
you  know."  Making  a  great  effort,  she  sat  upright.  Dr.  Hart- 
well  put  a  glass  containing  medicine  to  her  lips  ;  she  shrank  back 
and  shuddered,  then  raised  her  hand  for  the  glass,  and  looking 
fixedly  at  him,  said  :  "Did  Mrs.  Grayson  say  I  must  take  it  ? 
Is  it  poison  that  kills  quickly  ?  There  :  don't  frown,  Eugene,  I 
will  drink  it  all  for  you.  She  swallowed  the  draught  with  « 
shiver.  He  laid  her  back  on  her  pillow  and  renewed  the  iced 
cloth  on  her  forehead  ;  she  did  not  move  her  burning  eyes  from 
his  face,  and  the  refreshing  coolness  recalled  the  sad  smile. 
"  Are  we  on  the  Alps,  Eugene  ?  I  feel  dizzy,  don't  let  me  fall. 
There  is  a  great  chasm  yonder.  Oh,  I  know  now  ;  I  am  not  afraid; 
Lilly  is  down  there — come  on."  Her  arms  drooped  to  her  side, 
and  she  slept  again.  Evening  shadows  crept  on  ;  soon  the  room 
was  dark.  Harriet  entered  with  a  shaded  lamp,  but  her  master 
motioned  her  out,  and  throwing  open  the  blinds,  suffered  the 
pure  moonlight  to  enter  freely.  The  window  looked  out  on  the 
flower-garden,  and  the  mingled  fragrance  of  roses,  jasmins, 
honeysuckles  and  dew-laden  four-o'clocks,  enveloped  him  as  in  a 
nloud  of  incense.  A  balmy  moonlight  June  night  in  our  beauti- 
ful sunny  South — who  shall  adequately  paint  its  witchery  ?  D». 
llartwell  leaned  his  head  against  the  window,  and  glanced  down 
at  the  parterre  he  had  so  fondly  fostered.  The  golden  moonlight 
mellowed  every  object,  and  not  the  gorgeous  pictures  of  Persian 
poets  surpassed  the  quiet  scene  that  greeted  the  master.  The 
.  shelled  serpentine  walks  were  bordered  with  low,  closely-clipped 
tassina  hedges  ;  clusters  of  white  and  rose  oleander,  scarlet  gei 


B  E  U  L  A  H  ,  63 

eniums,  roses  of  countless  variety,  beds  of  verbena  of  every  hue 
and  patches  of  brilliant  annuals,  all  looked  up  smilingly  at  him. 
Jnst  beneath  the  window,  the  clasping  tendrils  of  a  clematis  wen 
wound  about  the  pedestal  of  a  marble  Flora,  and  a  cluster  of  the 
delicate  purple  blossoms  peeped  through  the  fingers  of  the  god- 
dess.    Further  off,  a  fountain  flashed  in  the  moonlight,  murmur- 
ing musically  in  and  out  of  its  reservoir,  while  the  diamond  spray 
bathed  the  sculptured  limbs  of  a  Venus.     The  sea  breeze  sang  ita 
Jullaby  through  the  boughs  of  a  luxuriant  orange-tree  near,  and 
silence  seemed  guardian   spirit  of  the  beautiful   spot  when    a 
whippowil    whirred    through  the    air,   and    perching  on   the 
enowy  brow  of  the  Aphrodite,  began  his  plaintive  night-hymn. 
In  childhood,  Guy  Hartwell  had  been  taught  by  his  nurse  to 
regard  the  melancholy  chant  as  ominous  of  evil ;  but  as  years 
threw  their  shadows  over  his  heart,  darkening  the  hopes  of  his 
boyhood,    the   sad  notes  of  the  lonely  bird  became  gradually 
soothing,  and  now  in  the  prime  of  life,  he   loved  to  listen  to  the 
shy  visitor,  and  ceased  to  remember  that  it  boded  ill.     With  an" 
ardent  love  for  the  beautiful,  in  all  its  Protean  phases,  he  enjoyed 
communion  with  nature  as  only  an  imaginative,  aesthetical  tem- 
perament  can.      This   keen  appreciation  of  beauty   had  beenj 
fostered  by  travel  and  study.      Over  the  vast  studio  of  nature 
he  had  eagerly  roamed  ;  midnight  had  seen  him  gazing  enrap 
tured  on  the  loveliness  of  Italian  scenery,  and  found  him  watch- 
ing the  march  of  constellations  from  the  lonely  heights  of  the 
Hartz;  while  the  thunder  tones  of  awful  Niagara  had  often  hushed 
the  tumults  of  his  passionate  heart,  and  bowed  his  proud  head 
in  humble  adoration.     He  had  searched  the  storehouses  of  art, 
and  collected  treasures  that  kindled  divine  aspirations  in  his  soul, 
and  wooed  him  for  a  time  from  the  cemetery  of  memory.     Witt 
a  nature  so  intensely  sesthetical,  and  taste  so  thoroughly  eulti 
rated,  he  had,  in  a  great  measure,  assimilated  his  home  to  tha 
ai  tistic  bp.au  ideal.     Now  as  he  stood  inhaling  the  perfumed  air, 
he  forgot  the  little  sufferer  a  few  yards  off — forgot  that  Azrai] 
stood  on  the  threshold,  beckoning  her  to  brave  the  dark  floods , 


64  BEULAH. 

and  as  his  whole  nature  became  permeated  (so  to  speak)  by  the 
intoxicating  beauty  that  surrounded  him,  he  extended  his  a"ms, 
and  exclaimed  triumphantly : 

"  Truly  thou  art  my  mother,  dear  old  earth  1  I  feel  that  I  at 
indeed  nearly  allied  to  thy  divine  beauty  1  Starry  nights,  an 
whispering  winds,  and  fragrant  flowers  I  yea,  and  even  ih 
breath  of  the  tempest !  all,  all  are  parts  of  my  being." 

"  Gey,  there  is  a  messenger  waiting  at  the  door  to  see  you. 
Some  patient  requires  prompt  attendance."  Mrs.  Chilton  stoc<l 
near  the  window,  and  the  moonlight  flashed  over  her  handsome 
face.  Her  brother  frowned  and  motioned  her  away,  but,  smiling 
quietly,  she  put  her  beautifully  molded  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
and  said  : 

"I  um  sorry  I  disturb  your  meditations,  but  if  you  will 
practise  " 

"  Who  sent  for  me  ?" 

"  I  really  don't  know." 

"  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  inquire  ?" 

"  Certainly."     She  glided  gracefully  from  the  room. 

The  whippcwil  flew  from  his  marble  perch,  and  as  the  mourn- 
ful tones  died  away,  the  master  sighed,  and  returned  to  the  bed- 
side of  his  charge.  He  renewed  the  ice  on  her  brow,  and  soon 
after  his  sister  reentered. 

"  Mr.  Vincent  is  very  sick,  and  you  are  wanted  immediately." 

"  Very  well."     He  crossed  the  room  and  rang  the  bell. 

"  Guy,  are  you  sure  that  girl  has  not  scarlet-fever  ?" 

"  May,  I  have  answered  that  question  at  least  twice  a  day  lor 
nearly  a  week." 

"  But  you  should  sympathize  with  a  mother's  anxiety.  I  dread 
0  expose  Pauline  to  danger." 

"  Then  let  her  remain  where  she  is." 

"  But  I  prefer  having  her  come  home,  if  I  could  feel  assured 
that  girl  has  only  brain-fever." 

"  Then,  once  for  ali,  there  is  no  scarlet  fever  in  the  house." 

He  took  a  vial  from  his  pocket,  and  poured  a  portion  of  it* 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  6* 

rontents  into  the  glass,  which  he  placed  on  a  stand  by  Benlah'/ 
bed  ;  then  turning  to  Harriet,  who  had  obeyed  his  summons,  he 
directed  her  to  administer  the  medicine  hourly. 

"  Guy,  you  may  give  your  directions  to  me,  for  I  shall  stay  with 
the  child  to-night."  As  she  spoke,  she  seated  herself  at  the  fool 
»f  the  bed 

"  Harriet,  hand  me  the  candle  in  the  hall."     She  did  so  ;  and 
6  her  master  took  it  from  her  hand,  he  said,  abruptly  : 

"  Tell  Hal  to  bring  my  buggy  round,  and  then  you  may  go  to 
bed.  I  will  ring  if  you  are  wanted."  He  waited  until  she  was 
out  of  hearing,  and,  walking  up  to  his  sister,  held  the  candle  so 
that  the  light  fell  full  upon  her  face. 

"  May,  can  I  trust  you  ?" 

"  Brother,  you  are  cruelly  unjust."  She  covered  her  face  with 
her  lace  handkerchief. 

"  Am  I,  indeed  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  wrong  me  hourly,  with  miserable  suspicions.  Guy, 
remember  that  I  have  your  blood  in  my  veins,  and  it  will  not 
always  tamely  bear  insult,  even  from  you."  She  removed  the 
handkerchief,  and  shook  back  her  glossy  curia,  while  her  face 
grew  still  paler  than  was  its  wont. 

"  Insult  !     May,  can  the  unvarnished  truth  be  such  ?" 

They  eyed  each  other  steadily,  and  it  was  apparent  that  each 
iron  will  was  mated. 

"  Guy,  you  shall  repent  this." 
•    "  Perhaps  so.     You  have  made  me  repent  many  things." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that " 

"  I  mean  to  say,  that  since  you  have  at  last  offered  to  assist 
m  nursing  that  unconscious  child,  I  wish  you  to  give  the  medicine 
fc'iirly.  The  last  potion  was  at  eight  o'clock."  He  placed  the 
candle  so  as  to  shade  the  light  from  the  sick  girl,  and  left  the 
room.  Mrs.  Chilton  sat  for  some  time  as  he  had  left  her,  with 
her  head  leaning  on  her  hand,  her  thoughts  evidently  perplexed 
and  bitter.  At  length  she  rose  and  stood  close  to  Beulah,  look 
lug  earnestly  at  her  emaciated  face.  She  put  her  fingers  on  tl* 


66  BEULAH. 

Durning  temples  and  wrist,  and  counted  accurately  the  pulsationi 

of  the  lava  tide,  then  bent  her  queenly  head,  and  listened  to  th« 

heavily-drawn  breathing.     A  haughty  sniile  lit  her  fine  features 

as    she  said,  complacently  :    "A  mere  tempest  in    a  tea-cup 

\   Pshaw,  this  girl  will  not  mar  my  projects  long.     By  noon  to 

morrow  she  will  be  in  eternity.     I  thought,  the  first  time  I  saw 

her  ghostly  face,  she  would  trouble   me   but  a  short  season 

What   paradoxes   men   are.     What  on  earth  possessed   Guy, 

with  his  fastidious  taste,  to  bring  to  his  home  such  an  ugly, 

wasted,  sallow  little  wretch  ?     I  verily  believe,  as  a  family,  we 

are  beset  by  evil  angels."    Drawing  out  her  watch,  she  saw  that 

|  the  hand  had  passed  nine.     Raising  the  glass  to  her  lips,  she 

I  drank  the  quantity  prescribed  for  the  sufferer,  and  was  replacing 

it  on  the  stand,  when  Beulah's  large,  eloquent  eyes  startled  her. 

"  Well  child,  what  do  you  want  ?"  said  she,  trembling,  de- 
spite her  assumed  indifference.  Beulah  looked  at  her  vacantly, 
then  threw  her  arms  restlessly  over  the  pillow,  and  slept  again 
Mrs.  Chilton  drew  up  a  chair,  seated  herself,  and  sank  into  a 
reverie  of  some  length.  Ultimately  she  was  aroused  by  perceiv 
ing  her  brother  beside  her,  and  said  hastily  : 

"  How  is  Mr.  Vincent  ?     Not  dangerously  ill,  I  hope  ?'' 

'  To-morrow  will  decide  that.  It  is  now  ten  minutes  past  ten  ; 
how  many  potions  have  you  given  ?" 

"  Two,"  answered  she,  firmly. 

"Thank  you,  May.     I  will  relieve  you  now.     Good  night." 

"  But  you  are  worn  out,  and  I  am  not.  Let  me  sit  up  I  will4 
wake  you  if  any  change  occurs." 

"  Thank  you,  I  prefer  watching  to-night.  Take  that  candle, 
and  leave  it  on  the  table  in  the  hall.  I  need  nc«:hing  but  moon 
ight.  Leave  the  door  open."  As  the  flickering  light  vauisterX 
be  threw  himself  into  the  chair  beside  the  bed. 


B3ULAH. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

I?  was  in  the  grey  light  of  dawning  day  that  Beulah  awoke  U 
consciousness.  For  some  moments  after  unclosing  her  eyes,  they 
wandered  inquiringly  about  the  room,  and  finally  rested  on  the 
tall  form  of  the  watcher,  as  he  stood  at  the  open  window 
Gradually,  memory  gathered  up  its  scattered  links,  and  all  the 
incidents  of  that  hour  of  anguish  rushed  vividly  before  her.  The 
little  table,  with  its  marble  sleeper  ;  then  a  dim  recollection  of 
having  been  carried  to  a  friendly  shelter.  Was  it  only  yesterday 
evening,  and  had  she  slept  ?  The  utter  prostration  which  pre- 
vented her  raising  her  head,  and  the  emaciated  appearance  of 
her  hands,  told  her  "  no."  Too  feeble  even  to  think,  she  moaued 
audibly.  Dr.  Hartwell  turned  and  looked  at  her.  The  room 
was  still  in  shadow,  though  the  eastern  sky  was  flashed,  and  he 
stepped  to  the  bedside.  The  fever  had  died  out,  the  cheeks 
*ere  very  pale,  and  the  unnaturally  large,  sunken  eyes  lustreless, 
jhe  looked  at  him  steadily,  yet  with  perfect  indifference.  He 
saned  over,  and  said,  eagerly  : 

"  Beulah,  do  you  know  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  you." 

"  How  do  you  feel  this  morning  ?" 

"  I  am  very  weak,  and  my  head  seems  confused.  How  long 
have  I  been  here  ?" 

"  No  matter,  child,  if  you  are  better. '  He  took  out  his  watch, 
and,  after  counting  her  pulse,  prepared  some  medicine,  and  gave 
her  a  potion.  Her  features  twitched,  and  she  asked  trembling' y, 
as  if  afraid  of  her  own  question  : 

"  Have  they  buried  her?" 

"  Yes,  a  week  ago." 

She:  closed  her  eyes  with  a  groan,  ai.d  her  face  became  cot 


68  B  E  U  JL  A  U. 

rnLsed  ;  then  she  lay  quite  still,  with  a  wrinkled  brow.  Doctoi 
Hartwell  sat  down  by  her,  and,  taking  one  of  her  wasted  littU 
hands  in  his,  said  gently  : 

"  Beulah,  you  have  been  very  ill.  I  scarcely  thought  you 
would  recover  ;  and  now,  though  much  better,  you  must  not 
agitate  yourself,  for  you  are  far  too  weak  to  bear  it." 

"Why  didn't  you  let  me  die?  Oh,  it  would  have  been  a 
ineioy  1"  She  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  and  a  low  cry  wailed 
through  the  room. 

"  Because  I  wanted  you  to  get  well,  and  live  here,  and  be  my 
little  friend,  my  child.  Now,  Beulah,  I  have  saved  you,  and  you 
belong  to  me.  When  you  are  stronger,  we  will  talk  about  all 
you  want  to  know  ;  but  to-day  you  must  keep  quiet,  and  not 
think  of  what  distresses  you.  Will  you  try  ?" 

The  strong,  stern  man  shuddered,  as  she  looked  up  at  hiia 
with  an  expression  of  hopeless  desolation,  and  said  slowly  : 

"  I  have  nothing  but  misery  to  think  of." 

"  Have  you  forgotten  Eugene  so  soon  I" 

For  an  instant  the  eyes  lighted  up,  then  the  long  lashes  swept 
her  cheeks,  and  she  murmured  : 

"Eugene;  he  has  left  me  too;  something  will  happen  to  him 
also;  I  never  loved  anything  but  trouble  came  upon  it." 

Dr.  Hartwell  smiled  grimly,  as  though  unconsciously  she  had 
turned  to  view  some  page  in  the  history  of  his  own  life. 

"Beulah,  you  must  not  despond;  Eugene  will  come  back  an 
elegant  young  man  before  you  are  fairly  out  of  short  dresses. 
There,  do  not  talk  any  more,  and  don't  cry.  Try  to  sleep,  and 
remember,  child,  you  are  homeless  and  friendless  no  longer." 
Lie  pressed  her  hand  kindly,  and  turned  toward  the  door.  It 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Chilton  entered. 

"  Good  morning,  Guy ;  how  is  your  patient  ?"  said  she^ 
blandly. 

"  Good  morning,  May;  my  little  patient  is  much  better.  She 
has  been  talking  to  me,  and  I  am  going  to  send  her  some  break- 
fast." He  put  both  hands  on  his  sister's  shoulders,  and  looked 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  69 

flown  into  her  beautiful  eyes.    She  did  aot  flinch,  but  he  saw  a 
grej'sh  hue  settle  around  her  lips. 

"  Ah !  I  thought  last  night  there  was  little  hope  of  her  reco- 
very. You  are  a  wonderful  doctor,  Guy;  almost  equal  to  raising 
the  dead."  Her  voice  was  even,  and,  like  his  own,  marvellouslj 
rweet. 

"More  wonderful  still,  May;  I  can  read  the  living."  Hi  | 
moustached  lip  curled,  as  a  scornful  smile  passed  over  his  face. 

"  Read  the  living  ?  then  you  can  understand  and  appreciate 
my  pleasure  at  this  good  news.  Doubly  good,  because  it  secures 
Pauline's  return  to-day.  Dear  child,  I  long  to  have  her  at  home 
again."  An  expression  of  anxious  maternal  solicitude  crossed 
her  features.  Her  brother  kept  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and 
as  hi.3  eye  fell  on  her  glossy  auburn  curls,  he  said,  half  musinglv: 

"Time  touches  you  daintily,  May;  there  is  not  one  silver 
foot-print  on  your  hair." 

"  He  has  dealt  quite  as  leniently  with  you.  But  how  could  I 
feel  the  inroads  of  time,  shielded  as  I  have  been  by  your  kind- 
ness ?  Cares  and  sorrows  bleach  the  locks  oftener  than  accu- 
mulated years;  and  you,  Guy,  have  most  kindly  guarded  your 
poor  widowed  sister.'' 

"  Have  I,  indeed,  May  ?" 

"  Ah !  what  would  become  of  my  Pauline  and  me,  but  for 
your  generosity,  your" 

•'Enough!     Then,  once  for  all,  be  kind  to  yonder  sick  child; 
if  not  for  her  sake,  for  your  own.     You  and  Pauline  can  aid  me 
in  making  her  happy,  if  you  will.     And  if  not,  remember,  May,  \ 
you  know  my  nature.     Do  not  disturb  Beulah  now;  come  down  | 
and  let  her  be  quiet."     He  led  her  down  the  steps,  and  then 
throwing  open  a  glass  door,  stepped  out  upon  a  terrace  covered 
with  Bermuda  grass,  and  sparkling  like  a  tiara  in  the  early  sun- 
light.    Mrs.  Chilton  watched  him  descend  the  two  white  marble 
steps  leading  down  to  the  flower  beds,  and  leaning  against  the 
wall,  she  muttered:  _. 

"  It  cannot  be  possible  that  that  miserable  beggar  la  to  corz«    f 


TO  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

between  Pauline  and  his  property  I  Is  he  mad  to  dream  lA 
making  that  little  outcast  his  heiress?  Yet  he  meant  it;  I  BC.W 
it  in  his  eye;  the  lurking  devil  that  has  slumbered  since  that 
evening,  and  that  I  hoped  would  never  gleam  out  at  me  again. 
Oh!  we  are  a  precious  family.  Set  the  will  of  one  against 
another,  and  all  Pandemonium  can't  crush  either!  Ten  to  one 
Pauline  will  lose  her  wits  too,  and  be  as  hard  to  manage  as 
Guy."  Mocdy  and  perplexed,  she  walked  on  to  the  dining-room. 
Beulah  had  fallen  into  a  heavy  slumber  of  exhaustion,  and  it  was 
late  in  the  day  when  she  again  unclosed  her  eyes.  Harriet  sat 
sewing  near  her,  but  soon  perceived  that  she  was  awake,  and 
Immediately  put  aside  her  work. 

"Aha!  so  you  have  come  to  your  senses  again,  have  you? 
How  are  you,  child  ?" 

"  I  am  weak." 

"  Which  isn't  strange,  seeing  that  you  haven't  eat  a  teaspoon- 
ful  in  more  than  a  week.  Now,  look  here,  little  one;  I  am 
ordered  to  nurse  and  take  charge  of  you,  till  you  are  strong 
enough  to  look  out  for  yourself.  So  you  must  not  object  to 
anything  I  tell  you  to  do."  Without  further  parley,  she  washed 
and  wiped  Beulah's  face  and  hands,  shook  up  the  pillows,  and 
placed  her  comfortably  on  them.  To  the  orphan,  accustomed 
all  her  life  to  wait  upon  others,  there  was  something  singularly 
novel  in  being  thus  carefully  handled;  and  nestling  her  head 
close  to  the  pillows,  she  shut  her  eyes,  lest  the  tears  that  were 
gathering  should  become  visible.  Harriet  quitted  the  room 
for  a  short  time,  and  returned  with  a  salver  containing  some 
refreshments. 

"I  can't  cat  anything.  Thank  you;  but  take  it  away.w 
Beulah  put  her  hands  over  her  face,  but  Harriet  resolute?/ 
seated  herself  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  lifted  her  up,  atd  put  a 
cup  of  tea  to  the  quivering  lips. 

"It  is  no  use  talking;  master  said  you  had  to  eat,  and  you 
might  jast  as  well  do  it  at  once.  Poor  thing!  you  are  hiding 
vonr  eyes  to  cry.  Well,  drink  this  tea  and  eat  a  little;  joi 


B  E  U  L  A  3  .  7J 

roast,  for  folks  can't  live  forever  without  eating/'  There  wa« 
10  alternative,  and  Beulah  swallowed  what  was  given  her 
Harriet  praised  her  obedient  spirit,  and  busied  herself  about  th6 
room  for  some  time.  Finally,  stooping  over  the  bed,  she  said 
ibrnptly: 

"  Honey,  are  you  crying  ?" 

There  was  no  reply,  and  kneeling  down,  she  said  cattiously: 

"  If  you  knew  as  much  about  this  family  as  I  do,  you  would 
cry,  sure  enough,  for  something.  My  master  says  he  has  adopted 
you,  and  since  he  has  said  it,  everything  will  work  for  good  to 
you.  But,  child,  there  will  come  times  when  you  need  a  friend 
besides  master,  and  be  sure  you  come  to  me  when  you  do.  I 
won't  say  any  more  now,  but  remember  what  I  tell  you  when 
you  get  into  trouble.  Miss  Pauline  has  come,  and  if  she  hap- 
pens to  take  a  fancy  to  you  (which  I  think  she  won't),  she  will 
stand  by  you  till  the  stars  fall;  and  if  she  don't,  she  will  hate 
you  worse  than  Satan  himself  for" Harriet  did  not  com- 
plete the  sentence,  for  she  detected  her  master's  step  in  the 
passage,  and  resumed  her  work. 

"  How  is  she  ?" 

"She  did  not  eat  much,  sir,  and  seems  so  downheaited." 

"  That  will  do.     I  will  ring  when  you  are  needed." 

Dr.  Hartwcll  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  lift 
ing  the  child's  head  to  his  bosom,  drew  away  the  hands  that 
shaded  her  face. 

"  Beulah,  are  you  following  my  directions  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir !  you  are  very  kind,  but  I  am  too  wretched,  too 
miserable,  even  to  thank  you  " 

"  I  do  not  wish  you  to  thank  me.  All  I  desire  is,  that  you 
niil  keep  quiet  for  a  few  days,  till  you  grow  strong,  and  not  lie 
jcre  sobbing  yourself  into  another  fever.  I  know  you  have  had 
a  bitter  lot  in  life  so  far,  and  memories  are  all  painful  with  you, 
but  it  is  better  not  to  dwell  upon  the  past  Ah,  child  !  it  is 
well  to  live  only  in  the  present,  looking  into  the  future 
I  promise  you  I  will  guard  you,  and  care  for  yon  as  tenderly  a* 


72  BEULAH. 

n  father  ;  aod  now,  Beulab,  I  think  you  owe  it  to  me,  tc  try  tc 
be  cheerful." 

He  passed  his  fingers  softly  over  her  forehead,  and  put  back 
the  tangled  masses  of  jetty  hair,  which,  long  neglect— had 
piled  about  her  face.  The  touch  of  his  cool  hand,  the  low 
9  asical  tones  of  his  voice,  were  very  soothing  to  the  weary 
sufferer,  and  with  a  great  effort  she  looked  up  into  the  deep^ 
dark  eyes,  saying  brokenly  : 

"  Oh,  sir,  how  good  yon  are  ! — I  am — very  grateful — 
to  you — indeed,  I  " 

"There,  my  child,  do  not  try  to  talk,  only  trust  me,  and  be 
cheerful.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  have  you  here,  and  know 
that  you  will  always  remain  in  my  house." 

How  long  he  sat  there,  she  never  knew,  for  soon  she  slept, 
aud  when  hours  after  she  waked,  the  lamp  was  burning  dimly, 
and  only  Harriet  was  in  the  room.  A  week  passed,  and  the 
girl  saw  no  one  except  the  nurse  and  physician.  One  sunnv 
afternoon,  she  looped  back  the  white  curtains,  and  sat  down 
before  the  open  window.  Harriet  had  dressed  her  in  a  blue 
calico  wrapper,  which  made  the  wan  face  still  more  ghastly,  and 
the  folds  of  black  hair,  which  the  gentle  fingers  of  the  kind 
nurse  had  disentangled,  lay  thick  about  her  forehead,  like  an 
ebon  wreath  on  the  brow  of  a  statue.  Her  elbows  rested  ou 
the  arms  of  the  easy-chair,  arid  the  weary  head  leaned  upon  tho 
nands.  Before  her  lay  the  flower  garden,  brilliant  and  fragrant, 
further  on,  a  row  of  Lombardy  poplars  bounded  the  yard,  and 
beyond  the  street,  stretched  the  west  common.  In  the  distance 
rose  a  venerable  brick  building,  set,  as  it  were,  in  an  emerald 
lawn,  and  Beulah  looked  only  once,  and  knew  it  was  tho 
Asylum.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  seen  it  since  her  exodus, 
and  the  long  sealed  fountain  could  no  longer  be  restrained. 
Great  hot  tears  fell  over  the  bent  face,  and  the  frail  form 
trembled  violently.  For  nearly  fourteen  years  that  brave 
spirit  had  battled,  and  borne,  and  tried  to  hope  for  better 
things.  With  more  than  ordinary  fortitude,  she  had  resigned 


B  £  U  L  A  U  .  79 

herself  to  the  sorrows  that  came  thick  and  fast  upon  her,  and 
trusting  in  the  eternal  love  and  goodness  of  God,  ha!  looked 
to  him  for  relief  and  reward.  But  the  reward  came  not  in  the 
expected  way.  Hope  died  ;  faith  fainted  ;  and  bitterness  and 
despair  reigned  in  that  once  bving  and  gentle  soul.  Her  father 
had  not  been  spared  in  answer  to  her  frantic  prayers.  Liliy 
had  been  taken,  without  even  the  sad  comfort  of  a  farewell, 
tnd  now,  with  the  present  fall  of  anguish,  and  the  future 
ihrouded  in  dark  forebodings,  she  sobbed  aloud. 

"  All  alone  !    All  alone  !    0,  father  !     0,  Lilly,  Lilly!" 

"  Do  pray,  chile,  don't  take  on  so  ;  you  will  fret  yourself 
sick  again,"  said  Harriet,  compassionately  patting  the  drooped 
head. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me — don't  speak  to  me  1"  cried  Beulah 
passionately. 

"  Yes,  but  I  was  told  not  to  let  you  grieve  yourself  to  death, 
and  you  are  doing  your  best.  Why  don't  you  put  your  trust  in 
the  Lord  1" 

"  I  did,  and  he  has  forgotten  me." 

"No,  chile.  He  forgets  not  even  the  little  snow-birds.  1 
expect  you  wanted  to  lay  down  the  law  for  Him,  and  are  not 
willing  to  wait  until  he  sees  fit  to  bless  you.  Isn't  it  so  ?" 

*  He  never  can  give  me  back  my  dead." 

"  But  he  can  raise  up  other  friends  for  you,  and  he  has.  It  is 
a  blessed  thing  to  have  my  master  for  a  friend,  and  a  protector, 
Think  of  living  always  in  a  place  like  this,  with  plenty  of  money, 
and  nothing  to  wish' for.  Chile,  you  don't  know  how  lucky" 

She  paused,  startled  by  ringing  peals  of  laughter,  which 
Beemed  to  come  from  the  adjoining  passage.  Sounds  of  mirth 
fell  torturiugly  upon  Beulah's  bleeding  spirit,  and  she  pressed 
her  fingers  tightly  over  her  ears.  Just  opposite  to  her  sat  the 
old  trunk,  which,  a  fortnight  before,  she  had  packed  for  her  jour- 
ney up  the  river.  The  leathern  race  seemed  to  sympathize  with 
her  woe,  and  kneeling  down  on  the  floor,  she  wound  her  arrni 
caressingly  over  it. 

4 


74  B  fi  U  L  A  F  . 

"  Bless  the  girl  !  she  hags  that  ugly  ok  fashioned  thing,  as  ii 
it  were  kin  to  her,"  said  Harriet,  who  sat  sewing"  at  one  of  the 
windows. 

Beulah  raised  the  lid,  and  there  lay  her  clothes,  the  book* 
Eugene  had  given  her  ;  two  or  three  faded,  worn-out  garments 
of  Tally,  and  an  old  Bible.  The  tears  froze  in  her  eyes,  as  she 
took  ont  the  last,  and  opened  it  at  the  ribbon  mark.  These 
words  greeted  her :  "  Whom  the  Lord  loveth,  he  ckasteneth" 
Again  and  again  she  read  them,  and  the  crushed  tendrils  of 
trust  feebly  twined  once  more  about  the  promise.  As  she  sat 
there,  wondering  why  suffering  and  sorrow  always  fell  on  those 
whom  the  Bible  calls  "  blessed,"  and  trying  to  explain  the  para- 
dox, the  door  was  thrown  rudely  open,  and  a  girl  about  her  own 
age  sprang  into  the  room,  quickly  followed  by  Mrs.  Chilton. 

"  Let  me  alone,  mother.  I  tell  you  I  mean  to  see  her,  and 
then  you  are  welcome  to  me  as  long  as  you  please.  Ah,  is 
that  her  ?" 

The  speaker  paused  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment,  and  gazed 
curiously  at  the  figure  seated  before  the  old  trunk.  Involun- 
tarily, Beulah  raised  her  eyes,  and  met  the  searching  look 
fixed  upon  her.  The  intruder  was  richly  dressed,  and  her  very 
posture  bespoke  the  lawless  independence  of  a  willful,  petted 
.  child.  The  figure  was  fautlessly  symmetrical,  and  her  face 
radiantly  beautiful.  The  features  were  clearly  cut,  and  regular, 
the  eyes  of  deep,  dark  violet  hue,  shaded  by  curling  brown 
lashes.  Her  chestnut  hair  was  thrown  back  with  a  silver  comb, 
and  fell  in  thick  curls  below  the  waist ;  her  complexion  was  of 
alabaster  clearness,  and  cheeks  and  lips  wore  the  coral  bloom  of 
!  health.  As  they  confronted  each  other,  one  looked  a  Hebe,  th« 
'•  ither  a  ghostly  visitant  from  spirit  realms.  Beulah  shrank 
from  the  eager  scrutiny,  and  put  up  her  hands  to  shield,  her 
face.  The  other  advanced  a  few  steps,  and  stood  beside  hei 
The  expression  of  curiosity  faded,  and  something  like  compas- 
sion swept  over  the  stranger's  features,  as  she  noted  the  thiu 
drooping  form  of  the  invalid.  Her  lips  parted,  and  she  put  out 


ESLLAH.  74 

ner  hand,  as  if  to  address  Beulah,  when  Mrs.  Ohilfo     exclaimed 
impatiently  : 

"  Pauline,  come  down  this  instaut  1  Yonr  uncle  p  ^lively  for 
bade  your  entering  this  room  until  he  gave  you  permission. 
There  is  his  buggy  this  minute  1  Come  out,  I  say  1"  She  laid 
her  hand  in  no  gentle  manner  on  her  daughter's  arm. 

"  Oh,  sink  the  buggy  I  What  do  I  care  if  he  does  catch  m« 
here  ?  I  shall  stay  till  I  make  up  my  mind  whether  that  little 
thing  is  a  ghost  or  not.  So,  mother,  let  me  alone."  She  shook 
off  the  clasping  hand  that  sought  to  drag  her  away,  and  again 
fixed  her  attention  on  Beulah. 

"  Willful  girl  1  you  will  ruin  everything  yet.  Pauline,  follow 
me  instantly,  I  command  you  1"  She  was  white  with  rage,  but 
the  diAighter  gave  no  intimation  of  having  heard  the  words,  and 
throwing  her  arm  about  the  girl's  waist,  Mrs.  Chilton  dragged 
her  to  the  door.  There  was  a  brief  struggle  at  the  threshold, 
and  then  both  stood  quiet  before  the  master  of  the  house. 

"  What  is  all  this  confusion  about  ?  I  ordered  this  portion 
of  the  house  kept  silent,  did  I  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  Guy  ;  and  I  hope  you  will  forgive  Pauline's  thought- 
lessness. She  blundered  in  here,  and  I  have  just  been  scolding 
her  for  disobeying  your  injunctions." 

"  Uncle  Guy,  it  was  not  thoughtlessness,  at  all ;  I  came  on 
purpose.  For  a  week,  I  have  been  nearly  dying  with  curiosity 
to  see  that  little  skeleton  you  have  shut  up  here,  and  I  ran 
up  to  get  a  glimpse  of  her.  I  don't  see  the  harm  of  it;  I  haven't 
hurt  her."  Pauline  looked  fearlessly  up  in  her  uncle's  face, 
and  planted  herself  firmly  in  the  door,  as  if  resolved  not  to  I* 
Reeled. 

"  Does  this  house  belong  to  you,  or  to  me,  Pauline  ?" 

''  To  you,  now  :  to  me,  some  of  these  days,  when  you  givo  U 
o  me  for  a  bndal  present." 

His  brow  cleared,  he  looked  kindly  down  into  the  frank,  truth 
Pal  countenance,  and  said,  with  a  half  smile  : 

"  Do  not  repeat  your  voyage  of  discovery,  or  perhaps  yooi 


?»j  B  E  U  b  A  H 

bridal  anticipations  nmy  prove  an  egregious  tuilure.     Do  yoo 
underhand  me  ?" 

"  I  bare  not  finished  toe  first.  Mother  played  pir.ite,  anc 
carried  me  off  before  I  was  half  satisfied.  Uncle  Guy,  take  mo 
under  your  flag,  do  !  I  will  not  worry  the  little  thing — I  pro- 
mise you  I  will  not.  Can't  I  stay  here  a  while  ?"  lie  smiled, 
and  put  his  hand  on  her  head,  saying — 

"I  am  inclined  to  try  you.  May,  you  can  leave  her  here.  1 
irill  send  her  to  you  after  a  little."  As  he  spoke,  he  drew  her 
op  to  the  orphan.  Beulah  looked  at  them  an  instant,  then 
averted  her  head. 

"  Beulah,  this  is  my  niece,  Pauline  Chilton  ;  and  Pauline,  this 
is  my  adopted  child,  Beulah  Benton.  You  are  about  the  same 
age,  and  can  make  each  other  happy,  if  you  will.  Beulah,  shako 
hands  with  my  niece."  She  put  up  her  pale,  slender  fingers,  and 
they  were  promptly  clasped  in  Pauline's  plump  palm. 

"  Do  stop  crying,  and  look  at  me.  I  want  to  see  you,"  said 
the  latter. 

"  I  am  not  crying." 

"  Then,  what  are  you  hiding  your  face  for  ?" 

"  Because  it  is  so  ugly,"  answered  the  orphan,  sadly. 

Pauline  stooped  down,  took  the  head  in  her  hands,  and  turned 
the  features  to  view.  She  gave  them  a  searching  examination, 
and  then,  looking  up  at  her  uncle,  said  bluntly  : 

"  She  is  not  pretty,  that  is  a  fact ;  but,  somehow,  I  rather 
jke  her.  If  she  did  not  look  so  doleful,  and  had  some  blood  in 
her  lips,  she  would  pass  well  enough,  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

Dr.  Hartwell  did  not  reply;  but  raising  Beulah  from  the  floor, 
placed  her  in  the  chair  she  had  vacated  some  time  before.  She 
did,  indeed,  look  "  doleful,"  as  Pauline  expressed  it,  and  the 
blaming,  lovely  face  of  the  latter  rendered  her  wan  aspect  mort 
apparent. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  all  day  ?•*'  said  the  doctor,  kindly. 

SLe  pointed  to  the  Asylum,  and  answered  in  a  low,  subdued 
tone: 


B  E  U  L  A  a  .  77 

"Thinking  about  my  past  life — all  n^y  wisfo: tones'* 

"  You  protiiscd  you  would  do  so  no  norc." 

*  Ah,  sir  !  how  can  I  help  it  ?" 

"  Why,  thiuk  of  something  pleasant,  of  course,"  interrupted 
Pauline. 

"  You  never  had  any  sorrows  ;  yon  know  nothing  oi  suffer 
Ing,"  replied  Beulah,  allowing  her  eyes  to  dwell  on  the  fine  open 
countenance  before  her  :  a  mirthful,  sunny  face,  where  waves  of 
grief  had  never  rippled. 

"  How  came  you  so  wise  ?  I  have  troubles  sometimes,  jusi 
like  everybody  else."  Beulah  shook  her  head  dubiously. 

"Pauline,  will  you  try  to  cheer  this  sad  liMle  stranger?  wiU 
you  be  always  kind  in  your  manner,  and  remember  that  her  life 
has  not  been  as  happy  as  yours  ?  Can't  you  love  her  ?"  She 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  answered  evasively : 

"  I  dare  say  we  will  get  on  well  enough,  if  she  will  only 
quit  looking  so  dismal  and  gravcyardish.  I  don't  know  about 
loving  her  ;  we  shall  see:" 

"  You  can  go  down  to  your  mother  now,"  said  he,  gravely. 

"That  means  you  are  tired  of  me,  Uncle  Guy,"  cried  shfe. 
saucily  shaking  her  curls  over  her  face. 

"  Yes,  heartily  tired  of  you  ;  take  yourself  off." 

"  Good  bye,  shadow;  I  shall  come  to  see  you  again  to-morrow." 
She  reached  the  door,  but  looked  back. 

"  Uncle,  have  you -seen  Charon  since  you  came  home  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Well,  he  will  die  if  you  don't  do  something  for  him.  It  is  a 
shame  to  forget  him  as  you  do  1"  said  she,  indignantly. 

"  Attend  to  your  own  affairs,  and  do  not  interfere  with  mine.' 

"  It  is  high  time  somebody  interfered.  Poor  Charon  1  If 
Hal  doesn't  take  better  -:are  of  him,  I  will  make  his  mother  box 
bis  cars  ;  see  if  I  don't." 

She  bounded  down  the  steps,  leaving  her  uncle  to  smooth  hia 
brow  at  leisure.  Turning  to  Beulah  he  took  her  hand,  and  said 
rery  kiudly  • 


Tt)  B  £  U  b  A  B 

brioal  anticipations  smy  prove  an  egregious  tuilure.  Do  yoo 
underhand  me  ?" 

"  I  have  not  finished  the  first.  Mother  played  pirate,  anc 
carried  me  off  before  I  was  half  satisfied.  Uncle  Guy,  lake  mo 
under  your  flag,  do  !  I  will  not  worry  the  little  thing — I  pro- 
mise you  I  will  not.  Can't  I  stay  here  a  while  ?"  lie  smiled, 
and  put  his  hand  on  her  head,  saying — 

"  I  am  inclined  to  try  yon.  May,  yon  can  leave  her  here.  1 
will  send  her  to  you  after  a  little."  As  he  spoke,  he  drew  her 
op  to  the  orphan.  Beulah  looked  at  them  an  instant,  then 
averted  her  head. 

"  Beulah,  this  is  my  niece,  Pauline  Chiltou  ;  and  Pauline,  this 
is  my  adopted  child,  Beulah  Benton.  You  are  about  the  same 
age,  and  can  make  each  other  happy,  if  you  will.  Beulah,  shako 
hands  with  my  niece."  She  put  up  her  pale,  slender  fingers,  and 
they  were  promptly  clasped  in  Pauline's  plump  palm. 

"  Do  stop  crying,  and  look  at  me.  I  want  to  see  you,"  said 
the  latter. 

"  I  am  not  crying." 

"  Then,  what  are  you  hiding  your  face  for  ?" 

"  Because  it  is  so  ugly,"  answered  the  orphan,  sadly. 

Pauline  stooped  down,  took  the  head  in  her  hands,  and  turned 
the  features  to  view.  She  gave  them  a  searching  examination, 
and  then,  looking  up  at  her  uncle,  said  bluntly  : 

"  She  is  not  pretty,  that  is  a  fact ;  but,  somehow,  I  rather 
jke  her.  If  she  did  not  look  so  doleful,  and  had  some  blood  in 
her  lips,  she  would  pass  well  enough,  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

Dr.  Hartwell  did  not  reply;  but  raising  Beulah  from  the  floor, 
placed  her  in  the  chair  she  had  vacated  some  time  before.  Sho 
did,  indeed,  look  "  doleful,"  as  Pauline  expressed  it,  and  the 
beaming,  lovely  face  of  the  latter  rendered  her  wan  aspect  more 
apparent. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  all  day  ?-''  said  the  doctor,  kindly. 

She  pointed  to  the  Asylum,  and  answered  in  a  low,  subdued 


B  fi  U  L  A  H .  71 

"Thinking  about  my  past  life — all  rpy  misfortunes" 

"  You  promised  you  would  do  so  no  EC  ore." 

*  Ah,  sir  I  how  can  I  help  it  ?" 

"  Why,  think  of  something  pleasant,  of  course,"  interrupted 
Pauline. 

"  You  never  had  any  sorrows  ;  yon  know  nothing  ot  suffer • 
Ing,"  replied  Beulah,  allowing  her  eyes  to  dwell  on  the  fine  opea 
countenance  before  her  :  a  mirthful,  sunny  face,  where  waves  of 
grief  had  never  rippled. 

"  How  came  you  so  wise  ?  I  have  troubles  sometimes,  jusi 
like  everybody  else."  Beulah  shook  her  head  dubiously. 

"Pauline,  will  you  try  to  cheer  this  sad  hMle  stranger?  wilJ 
you  be  always  kind  in  your  manner,  and  remember  that  her  life 
has  not  been  as  happy  as  yours  ?  Can't  you  love  her  ?"  She 
shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  answered  evasively  : 

"  I  dare  say  we  will  get  on  well  enough,  if  she  will  only 
quit  looking  so  dismal  and  gravcyardish.  I  don't  know  about 
loving  her  ;  we  shall  see:" 

"  You  can  go  down  to  your  mother  now,"  said  he,  gravely. 

"  That  means  you  are  tired  of  me,  Uncle  Guy,"  cried  sh*. 
saucily  shaking  her  curls  over  her  face. 

"  Yes,  heartily  tired  of  you  ;  take  yourself  off." 

"  Good  bye,  shadow;  I  shall  come  to  see  you  again  to-morrow." 
She  reached  the  door,  but  looked  back. 

"  Uncle,  have  you -seen  Charon  since  you  came  home  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Well,  he  will  die  if  you  don't  do  something  for  him.  It  is  a 
shame  to  forget  him  as  you  do  1"  said  she,  indignantly. 

"  Attend  to  your  own  affairs,  and  do  not  interfere  with  mine.' 

"  It  is  high  time  somebody  interfered.  Poor  Charon  I  If 
Hal  doesn't  take  better  -:are  of  him,  I  will  make  his  mother  box 
bis  cars  ;  see  if  I  don't." 

She  bounded  down  the  steps,  leaving  her  uncle  to  smooth  hia 
brow  at  leisure.  Turning  to  Beulah  he  took  her  hand,  and  said 
rery  kiudly  • 


f  8  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

"  This  largo  room  does  not  suit  you.  Come,  and  I  will  sho* 
you  your  own  little  room — one  I  have  had  arranged  for  you/ 
She  silently  complied,  and  leading  her  through  several  passages, 
he  opened  the  door  of  the  apartment  assigned  her.  The  walls 
were  covered  with  blue  and  silver  paper  ;  the  window-curtains 
of  white,  faced  with  blue,  matched  it  well,  and  every  article  o^ 
fmniture  bespoke  lavish  and  tasteful  expenditure.  There  was  a 
small  writing-desk  near  a  handsome  case  of  books,  and  a  little 
work-table  with  a  rocking-chair  drawn  up  to  it.  lie  staled 
Benluh,  and  stood  watching  her,  as  her  eyes  wandered  curiously 
and  admiringly  around  the  room.  They  rested  on  a  painting 
suspended  over  the  desk,  and  rapt  in  contemplating  the  design, 
forgot  for  a  moment  all  her  sorrows.  It  represented  au 
angelic  figure  winging  its  way  over  a  valley  beclouded  and  dis- 
mal, and  pointing,  with  a  radiant  countenance,  to  the  gilded 
summit  of  a  distant  steep.  Below,  bands  of  pilgrims,  weary  and 
worn,  toiled  on  ;  some  fainting  by  the  wayside,  some  seated  iu 
sullen  despair,  some  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  some  pressing 
forward  with  strained  gaze,  and  pale,  haggard  faces. 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?"  said  Doctor  Hartwell. 

Perhaps  she  did  not  hear  him  ;  certainly  she  did  not  heed  the 
question,  and  taking  a  seat  near  one  of  the  windows,  he  regarded 
her  earnestly.  Her  eyes  were  fastened  on  the  picture,  and  raising 
her  hands  toward  it,  she  said  in  broken,  indistinct  tones  : 

"  I  am  dying  down  in  the  dark  valley  ;  oh,  come,  help  me  to 
toil  on  to  the  resting-place." 

Her  head  sank  upon  her  bosom,  and  bitter  waves  lashed  her 
heart  once  more. 

Gradually,  evening  shadows  crept  on,  and  at  length  a  soft 
aaud  lifted  her  face,  and  a  musical  voice  said  : 

"  Beulah,  I  want  you  to  come  down  to  my  study  and  make  my 
ica.  Do  you  feel  strong  enough  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir."  She  rose  at  once  and  followed  him,  resolved  to 
Beem  cheerful. 

The  study  was  au  oblong  room,  and  on  one  side  book-  shelve! 


B  B  U  L  A  H  .  71 

iase  almost  to  the  ceiling.  The  opposite  wall,  between  the  win 
dows,  was  covered  with  paintings,  aud  several  statues  stood  in 
the  recesses  near  the  chimney.  Over  the  low  marble  mantel 
piece  hung  a  full-length  portrait,  shrouded  with  black  crape,  and 
underneath  was  an  exquisitely  chased  silver  case,  containing 
email  Swiss  clock.  A  beautiful  terra-cotta  vase,  of  antique  shape 
stood  on  the  hearth,  filled  with  choice  and  fragrant  flowers,  and 
near  the  window  sat  an  elegant  rosewood  melodeon.  A  circular 
table  occupied  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  here  the  evening 
meal  was  already  arranged.  Beulah  glanced  timidly  around  as 
her  conductor  seated  her  beside  the  urn,  and  seeing  only  cupa 
for  two  persons,  asked  hesitatingly  : 

"  Shall  I  make  your  tea  now  ?" 

'  Yes,  and  remember,  Beulah,  I  shall  expect  you  to  make  it    / 
^very  evening  at  this  hour.     Breakfast  and  dinner  I  take  with    • 
nay  sister  and  Pauline  iu  the  dining-room,  but  my  evenings  are 
always  spent  here.     There,  make  another  cup  for  yourself." 

A  long  silence  ensued.  Doctor  Hartwell  seemed  lost  iu 
r3verie,  for  he  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  table-cloth,  and  his 
head  resting  on  his  hand.  His  features  resumed  their  habitua* 
expression  of  stem  rigidity,  and  as  Beulah  looked  at  him  sho 
could  scarcely  believe  that  he  was  the  same  kind  friend  who  had 
been  so  gentle  and  fatherly  in  his  manner.  Intuitively  she  felt 
then  that  she  had  to  deal  with  a  chaotic;  passionate  and  moody 
nature,  and  as  she  marked  the  knitting  of  his  brows,  aud  the 
iron  compression  of  his  lips,  her  heart  was  haunted  by  grave 
forebodings.  While  she  sat  pondering  his  haughty,  impenetrable  ] 
Appearance  a  servant  entered. 

"  Sir,  there  is  a  messenger  at  the  door." 

His  master  started  slightly,  pushed  away  his  cup  and  aaid  : 

"  Is  the  buggy  ready  1" 

"  Yea,  sir,  waiting  at  the  door." 

"  Very  well,  I  am  coming." 

The  windows  opened  down  to  the  floor,  and  led  into  a  vin» 
piazza.     He  stepped  up  to  one  and  stood  a  moment,  ai 


80  BEULAH. 

if  loth  to  quit   his   sanctum ;   then  turniug    -ound, 
Bcnlah  : 

"  Ah,  child,  I  had  almost  forgotten  you.  It  is  time  you  were 
asleep.  Do  you  know  the  way  back  to  your  room  ?" 

"  I  can  find  it,"  said  she,  rising  from  the  table. 

"  Good  night  ;  let  me  see  you  at  breakfast  if  you  feel  strong 
enough  to  join  us." 

He  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  hurrying  out,  Beulah  found 
her  own  room  without  difficulty.  Walking  up  to  Harriet,  whom 
she  saw  waiting  for  her,  she  said  in  a  grave,  determined 
manner  : 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me  since  T  came  here,  and  I  feel 
grateful  to  you,  but  I  have  not  been  accustomed  to  have  somo 
one  always  waiting  on  me,  and  in  future  I  shall  not  want  you. 
I  can  dress  myself  without  any  assistance,  so  you  need  not  come 
to  me  night  and  morning." 

"  I  am  obeying  master's  orders.  He  said  I  was  to  'tend  to 
you,"  answered  Harriet,  wondering  at  the  independent  spiri* 
evinced  by  the  new  comer. 

"  I  do  not  want  any  tending,  so  you  may  leave  u',c,  if  yea 
please." 

"  Haven't  you  been  here  long  enough  to  find  •/j't  that  you 
i  might  as  well  fight  the  waves  of  the  sea  as  my  .waster's  will  ? 
Take  care,  child,  how  you  begin  to  countermand  h.s  orders,  for  I 
tell  you  now  there  are  some  in  this  house  who  wiL  soon  make  it 
a  handle  to  turn  you  out  into  the  world  again.  Mind  what  I 
say." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  am  not  wanted  here  ?" 

"  I  mean,  keep  your  eyes  open."  Harriet  vanished  in  the  dark 
passage,  and  Beulah  locked  the  door,  feeling  that  now  she  was 
indeed  alone,  and  could  freely  indulge  the  grief  that  had  so  lor.g 
sought  to  veil  itself  from  curious  eyes.  Yet  there  was  no  dispo- 
sition to  cry.  She  sat  down  on  the  bed  and  mused  on  tho 
\  Btrange  freak  of  fortune  which  had  so  suddenly  elevated  the 
bumble  nurse  into  the  possessor  of  that  elegantly  furnished 


fl  E  U  L  A  H .  81 

apartment  There  was  no  elation  in  the  quiet  wonder  \ritfc 
which  she  surveyed  the  change  in  her  position.  She  did  nol 
belong  there,  she  had  no  claim  on  the  master  of  the  house,  and 
ehe  felt  that  she  was  trespassing  on  the  rights  of  the  beautiful 
Pauline.  Rapidly  plans  for  the  future  were  written  in  firm 
resolve.  She  would  thankfully  remain  under  the  roof  that 
BO  kindly  sheltered  her,  until  she  could  qualify  heiself  to  teach 
She  would  ask  Doctor  flartwell  to  give  her  an  education,  which, 
once  obtained,  would  enable  her  to  repay  its  price.  To  her 
proud  nature  thsre  was  something  galling  in  the  thought  of 
dependence,  and  throwing  herself  on  her  knees  for  the  first  time 
in  several  weeks,  she  earnestly  besought  the  God  of  orphans  to 
guide  and  assist  her. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

"  Do  you  wish  her  to  commence  school  at  once  ?" 

"  Not  uniil  her  wardrobe  has  been  replenished.  I  expect  her 
clothes  to  be  selected  and  made  just  as  Pauline's  are.  Will  you 
attend  to  this  business,  or  shall  I  give  directions  to  Harriet  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Guy,  I  can  easily  arrange  it.  You  intend  to  dreta 
her  just  as  I  do  Pauline  ?" 

"  As  nearly  as  possible.  Next  week  I  wish  her  to  begin  school 
with  Pauline,  and  Hansell  will  give  her  music  lessons.  Be  so 
good  as  to  see  about  her  clothes  immediately." 

Dr.  Hartwell  drew  on  his  gloves  and  left  the  room.  His  sister 
cliowcd  him  to  the  door  where  his  buggy  awaited  him. 

"Guy,  did  you  determine  about  that  little  affair  for  Pauline  ? 
Sne  has  so  set  her  heart  on  it." 

"  Oh,  do  as  you  please,  May,  only  I  am  " 

"  Stop,  Uncle  Guy  !  Wait  a  minute  :  may  1  have  a  birthday 
partT  ?  May  I  ?"  Almost  out  of  breath,  Pauline  ran  up  th« 
4* 


62  BE  TIL  AH. 

steps  ;  her  long  Lair  floating  over  her  face,  which  exercise  aad 
flushed  to  crimson. 

"  You  young  tornado  !  Look  how  you  have  crushed  that 
cluster  of  heliotrope,  rushing  over  the  flower-beds  as  if  there  were 
30  walks."  He  pointed  with  the  end  of  his  whip  to  a  drooping 
pray  of  purple  blossoms. 

"  Yes  ;  but  there  are  plenty  more.  1  say,  may  I  ? — may  I  ?* 
She  eagerly  caught  hold  of  his  coat. 

"  How  long  before  your  birthday  ?" 
.  "  Just  a  week  from  to-day.     Do,  please,  let  me  have  a  frolic  !' 

"Poor  child  I  you  look  as  if  you  needed  some  relaxation,"  said 
he,  looking  down  into  her  radiant  face,  with  an  expression  of 
mock  compassion. 

"Upon  my  word,  Uncle  Guy,  it  is  awfully  dull  here.  If  it 
were  not  for  Charon  and  Mazeppa  I  should  be  moped  to  death. 
Do,  pray,  don't  look  at  me  as  if  you  were  counting  the  hairs  iu 
my  eyelashes.  Come,  say  yes  :  do,  Uncle  Guy." 

"  Take  your  hands  off  of  my  coat,  and  have  ;t-  many  parties 
as  you  like,  provided  you  keep  to  your  own  side  of  the  house. 
Don't  come  near  my  study  with  your  Babel,  and  don't  allow  your 
company  to  demolish  my  flowers.  Mind,  not  a  soul  is  to  enter 
the  greenhouse.  The  parlors  are  at  your  service,  but  I  will  not 
iave  a  regiment  of  wild-cats  tearing  up  and  down  my  greenhouse 
and  flower-garden  ;  wind  that."  He  stepped  into  his  buggy. 

"  Bravo  !  I  have  won  my  wager,  and  got  the  party  too f 
Hugh  Cluis  bet  me  a  papier-macht  writing-desk  that  you  would 
cot  give  me  a  party.  When  I  send  his  invitation,  I  will  write 
on  the  oavelope  '  the  writing-desk  is  also  expected.'  Hey,  sha 
duw,  where  did  you  creep  from  ?"  She  fixed  her  merry  eyes  OB 
Beolah,  who  jast  then  appeared  on  the  terrace.  Dr.  Hartwell 
teaned  from  the  buggy,  and  looked  earnestly  at  the  quiet  littla 
figure. 

"Do  you  want  anything,  Beulah  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  thought  y>u  had  gone      May  1  ppen  the  gate  foi 


BEITLAH.  89 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  to  do  something  for  me."  His  pale 
fcntures  relaxed,  and  his  whole  face  lighted  up,  like  a  snn-flnshea 
t'Soud. 

Beulah  walked  down  the  avenue,  lined  on  either  side  with 
venerable  poplars  and  cedars,  and  opened  the  large  gate  leading 
into  the  city.  He  checked  his  horse,  and  said  : 

"  Thank  you,  my  child  ;  now  how  are  you  going  to  spend  th 
eU»y  ?  Remember  you  commence  with  school  duties  next  week. 
BO  make  the  best  of  your  holiday." 

"  I  have  enough  to  occupy  me  to-day.     Good  bye,  sir." 

"  Good  bye,  for  an  hour  or  so."  He  smiled  kindly  and  drove 
on,  while  she  walked  slowly  back  to  the  house,  wondering  why 
Bmiles  were  such  rare  things  in  this  world,  when  they  cost  so 
little,  and  yet  are  so  very  valuable  to  mourning  hearts.  Pauline 
sat  on  the  steps  with  an  open  book  in  her  hand.  She  looked  up 
as  Beulah  approached,  and  exclaimed  gaily  : 

"  Aren't  you  glad  I  am  to  have  my  birthday  frolic  ?w 

"  Yes,  I  am  glad  on  your  account,"  answered  Beulah,  gravely. 

"  Can  you  dance  all  the  fancy  dances  ?     I  don't  like  any  so  ~~ 
well  as  the  mazourka." 

"  I  do  not  dance  at  all." 

f<  Don't  dance  I  Why,  I  have  danced  ever  since  I  was  big 
enough  to  crawl  !  What  have  you  been  doing  all  your  life,  that 
you  don't  know  how  to  dance  ?" 

"  My  feet  have  had  other  work  to  do,"  replied  her  companion; 
and  as  the  recollections  of  her  early  childhood  flitted  before  her,  j 
the  brow  darkened. 

"I  suppose  that  is  one  reason  you  look  so  forlorn  all  tho 
time.  I  will  ask  Uncle  Guy  to  send  you  to  the  dancing  school 
for" 

"  Pauline,  it  is  school-time,  and  you  don't  know  one  word  of 
that  Quackenbos  ;  I  would  be  ashamed  to  start  from  home  an 
ignorant  of  my  lessons  as  you  are."  Mrs.  Chilton's  head  was 
projected  from  the  parlor  wimdow,  and  the  rebuke  was  delivered 
In  no  very  gentle  tone. 


86  BEULAH. 

meet  sorrow."  With  a  sudden,  inexplicable  revulsion  of  feeling 
sne  sank  on  her  knees,  and  there  beside  her  .protector,  veh& 
mently  prayed  Almighty  God  to  guard  and  guide  the  tempest 
tossed  loved  one.  If  her  eyes  had  rested  on  the  face  of  Deity, 
and  she  had  felt  his  presence,  her  petition  could  not  have  been 
more  importunately  preferred.  For  a  few  moments  Dr.  Hartwell 
regarded  her  curiously  ;  then  his  brow  darkened,  his  lips  curled 
sneeringly,  and  a  mocking  smile  passed  over  his  face.  Mrs. 
Chilton  smiled,  too,  but  there  was  a  peculiar  gleam  in  her  eyes, 
and  an  uplifting  of  her  brows  which  denoted  anything  but 
pleasurable  emotions.  She  moved  away,  and  sat  down  at  the 
head  of  the  table.  Dr.  Hartwell  put  his  hand  on  the  shoulder 
of  the  kneeling  girl,  and  asked,  rather  abruptly  : 

"  Beulah,  do  you  believe  that  the  God  you  pray  to  hears  you  ?" 

"  I  do.     He  has  promised  to  answer  prayer." 

"  Then,  get  up  and  be  satisfied,  and  eat  your  breakfast.  Yon 
'nave  asked  him  to  save  and  protect  Eugene,  and,  according  to 
the  Bible,  He  will  certainly  do  it  ;  so,  no  more  tears.  If  yoi. 
believe  in  your  God,  what  are  you  looking  so  wretched  about  ?" 
There  was  something  in  all  this  that  startled  Beulah,  and  she 
looked  up  at  him.  His  chilly  smile  pained  her,  and  she  rose 
quickly,  while  again  and  again  his  words  rang  in  her  ear.  Yet, 
what  was  there  so  strange  about  this  application  of  faith  ?  True, 
the  Bible  declared  that  "  whatsoever  ye  ask,  believing,  that  ye 
shall  receive,"  she  had  often  prayed  for  blessings,  and  often  been 
lenied.  Was  it  because  she  had  not  had  the  requisite  faith, 
which  should  have  satisfied  her  ?  Yet  God  knew  that  she  had 
trustel  him.  With  innate  quickness  of  perception,  she  de- 
tected the  tissued  veil  of  irony,  which  the  doctor  had  wrapped 
|  about  his  attempted  consolation,  and  she  looked  at  him  so 
'  intently,  so  piercingly,  that  he  hastily  turned  away  and  seated 
himself  at  the  table.  Just  then,  Pauline  bounded  into  th« 
room,  exclaiming  : 

"  Fourteen  to-day  !  Only  three  more  years  at  school,  aud 
then  I  shall  step  out  a  brilliant  young  lady,  the  " 


B  E  TJ  L  A  H  .  61 

"There;  be  quiet;  sit  down.  I  would  alnust  as  scon  select 
*  small  whirlwind  for  a  companion.  Can't  you  learn  to  enter  a 
room  without  blustering  like  a  March  wind,  or  a  Texan 
norther  ?"  asked  her  uncle. 

"  Have  you  all  seen  a  ghost  ?  You  look  as  solemn  as  grave- 
diggers.  What  ails  you,  Beulah  ?  Come  along  to  breakfast 
How  nicely  you  look  in  your  new  clothes."  Her  eyes  ran  ovel 
the  face  and  form  of  the  orphan. 

"  Pauline,  hush  !  and  eat  your  breakfast.  You  annoy  your 
uncle,"  said  her  mother,  severely. 

"  Oh,  do,  for  gracious  sake,  let  me  talk  !  I  feel  sometimes  as 
if  I  should  suffocate.  Everything  about  this  house  is  so  demure, 
and  silent,  and  solemn,  and  Quakerish,  and  hatefully  prim.  If 
ever  I  have  a  house  of  my  own,  I  mean  to  paste  in  great  letters 
over  the  doors  and  windows,  '  Laughing  and  talking  freely 
allowed !'  This  is  my  birthday,  and  I  think  I  might  stay  at 
home.  Mother,  don't  forget  to  have  the  ends  of  my  sash 
fringed,  and  the  tops  of  my  gloves  trimmed."  Draining  her 
small  china  cup,  she  sprang  up  from  the  table,  but  paused  beside 
Beulah. 

"  By  the  by,  what  are  you  going  to  wear  to-night,  Benlah  ?" 

"  I  shall  not  go  into  the  parlors  at  all,"  answered  the  latter. 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  Dr.  Hartwell,  looking  suddenly  up.  He 
met  the  sad,  suffering  expression  of  the  grey  eyes,  and  bit  hia 
lip  with  vexation.  She  saw  that  he  understood  her  feelings,  and 
made  no  reply. 

"  I  shall  not  like  it,  if  you  don't  come  to  my  party,"  said 
Pauline,  slowly  ;  and  as  she  spoke  she  took  one  of  the  orphan's 
hands. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Pauline,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  see 
ftrangers." 

"  But,  you  never  will  know  anybody  if  you  make  such  a  nun 
of  yourself.  Uncle  Guy,  tell  her  she  must  come  down  into  tbj 
parlors  to-night." 

"  Net  unless  she  wishes  to  do  BO.     But,  Pauline,  I  am  wj 


88  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

glad  that  you  hare  shown  her  you  desire  her  presence."     Hi 
put  his  hand  on  her  curly  head,  and  looked  with  more  than 
\    asual  affection,  at  the  bright,  honest  face. 

"  Beulah,  you  must  get  ready  for  school.  Come  down  as  soon 
as  you  can.  Pauline  will  be  waiting  for  you."  Mrs.  Chiltcn 
spoke  in  the  calm,  sweet  tone  peculiar  to  her  and  her  brother, 
but  t'j  Beulah  there  was  something  repulsive  in  that  even  voice, 
and  she  hurried  from  the  sound  of  it.  Kneeling  beside  her  bed, 
she  again  implored  the  Father  to  restore  Eugene  to  her,  and 
crushing  her  grief  and  apprehension  down  into  her  heart,  she 
resolved  to  veil  it  from  strangers.  As  she  walked  on  by  Pau- 
line's side,  only  the  excessive  paleness  of  her  face,  and  drooping 
of  her  eyelashes  betokened  her  suffering. 

Entering  school  is  always  a  disagreeable,  ordeal,  and  to  a  sen- 
sitive nature,  such  as  Beulah's,  it  was  torturing.  Madam  St. 
Cyinon  was  a  good-natured,  kind,  little  body,  and  received  her 
with  a  warmth  and  cordiality  which  made  amends  in  some  degree 
for  the  battery  of  eyes  she  was  forced  to  encounter. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  the  doctor  called  to  see  me  about  you — wants 
you  to  take  the  Latin  course.  For  the  present,  my  dear,  you 
will  sit  with  Miss  Sanders.  Clara,  take  this  young  lady  with 
you." 

The  girl  addressed  looked  at  least  sixteen  years  of  age,  and 

rising  promptly  she  came  forward  and  led  Beulah  to  a  seat  at  her 

\  desk,  which  was  constructed  for  two  persons.     The  touch  of  hei 

fingers  sent  a  thrill  through  Beulah's  frame,  and  she  looked  at 

her  very  earnestly. 

Clara  Sanders  was  not  a  beauty  in  the  ordinary  acceptatiou 

of  the  term,  but  there  was  an  expression  of  angelic  sweetness 

,  an  I   purity  in  her  countenance  which  fascinated   the   orphan 

"  She  remarked  the  scrutiny  of  the  young  stranger,  and  smiling 

good-humoredly   said,  as   she   leaned   over   and   arranged   the 

desk: 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  you  with  me,  and  dare  say  we  shall  get 
»D  very  nicely  together.  Y^u  look  ill." 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  A$ 

"  I  have  been  ill  recently  and  have  not  yet  regained  mj 
strength.  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  some  water  ?  I  feel 
rather  faint." 

Iler  companion  brought  her  a  glass  of  water.  She  drauk  U 
eagerly,  and  as  Clara  resumed  her  seat,  said  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  Oh,  thank  you.     You  are  very  kind.'' 

"  Not  at  all  If  you  feel  worse  you  must  let  me  know."  She 
«,crned  to  her  books  and  soon  forgot  the  presence  of  the  ntw 
comer. 

The  latter  watched  her,  and  noticed  now  that  she  was  dressed 
in  deep  mourning  ;  was  she  too  an  orphan,  and  had  this  circum- 
stance rendered  her  so  kindly  sympathetic  ?  The  sweet,  gentle 
face,  with  its  soft,  brown  eyes,  chained  her  attention,  and  in  the 
shaping  of  the  mouth  there  was  something  very  lik^  Lilly's. 
Soon  Clara  left  her  for  recitation,  and  then  she  turned  to  the 
new  books  which  madam  had  sent  to  her  desk.  Thus  passed 
the  morning,  and  she  started  when  the  recess  bell  rang  its 
summons  through  the  long  room.  Bustle,  chatter,  and  con- 
fusion ensued.  Pauline  called  to  her  to  come  into  lunch- 
room, and  touched  her  little  basket  as  she  spoke,  but  Beulah 
shook  her  head  and  kept  her  seat.  Clara  also  remained. 

"  Pauline  is  calling  you,"  said  she  gently. 

"  Yes,  I  hear ;  but  I  do  not  want  anything."  And  Bcnlah 
rested  her  head  on  her  hands. 

"  Dcn't  you  feel  better  than  you  did  this  morning  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  well  enough  in  body  ;  a  little  weak,  that  is  all." 

"  You  look  quite  tired  ;  suppose  you  lean  your  head  against 
me  and  take  a  short  nap  ?" 

"  You  are  very  good  indeed,  but  I  am  not  at  all  sleepy." 

Clara  was  engaged  in  drawing,  and  looking  on,  Beulah  be- 
ume  interested  in  the  progress  of  the  sketch.  Suddenly  a  hand 
was  j)laced  over  the  paper,  and  a  tall,  handsome  girl,  with  black 
eyes  and  sallow  complexion,  exclaimed  sharply  : 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Clara  Sanders,  do  you  expect  to  swim 
Into  the  next  world  on  a  piece  ef  drawing-paper?  Come  ove"  tv 


90  BEULAH. 

my  seat  and  work  out  ;hat  eighth  problem  for  me.     I  hare  pn* 
tied  over  it  all  the  morning,  and  can't  get  it  right." 

"  I  can  show  y>u  here  quite  as  well."  Taking  out  her  Euclid, 
Bhe  found  and  explained  the  obstinate  problem. 

"Thank  you.  I  cannot  endure  mathematics,  but  father  in 
bent  upon  my  being  '  thorough,'  as  he  calls  it.  I  think  it  is  al] 
thorough  nonsense.  Now  with  you  it  is  very  different,  you 
expect  to  be  a  teacher,  and  of  course  will  have  to  acquire  all 
these  branches  ;  tat  for  my  part  I  see  no  use  in  it.  I  shall  be 
rejoiced  when  this  dull  school-work  is  over." 

"Don't  say  tht,t,  Cornelia,  I  think  our  school-days  are  the 
happiest,  and  ferf  sad  when  I  remember  that  mine  are  num- 
bered." 

Here  the  be'l  announced  recess  over,  and  Cornelia  moved 
away  to  her  seit.  A  trembling  hand  sought  Clara's  arm. 

"  Is  that  Cornelia  Graham  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  is  die  not  very  handsome  ?" 

Beulah  P".ade  no  answer,  she  only  remembered  that  this  girl 
was  Eugene's  adopted  sister,  and  looking  after  the  tall,  queenly 
form,  elif  longed  to  follow  her,  and  ask  all  the  particulars  of  the 
storm.  Thus  ended  the  first  dreaded  day  at  school,  and  on. 
reaching  home,  Beulah  threw  herself  on  her  bed  with  a  low 
wailing  cry.  The  long  pent  sorrow  must  have  vent,  and  she 
Bobbed  until  weariness  sank  her  into  a  heavy  sleep. 

Far  out  in  a  billowy  sea,  strewed  with  wrecks,  and  hideous 
with  the  ghastly,  upturned  faces  of  floating  corpses,  she  and 
Eugene  were  drifting — now  clinging  to  each  other — now  tossed 
asunder  by  howling  waves.  Then  came  a  glimmering  sail  on  the 
wide  waste  of  waters  ;  a  little  boat  neared  them,  and  Lilly 
bancd  over  the  side  and  held  out  tiny,  dimpled  hands  to  lift  them 
fa.  They  were  climbing  out  of  their  watery  graves,  and  Lilly's 
long,  fair  curis  already  touched  their  cheeks,  when  a  strong  arm 
snatched  Lilly  back,  and  struck  them  down  into  the  roaring 
gulf,  and  above  the  white  faces  of  the  drifting  dead,  stood  Mrs* 
Gray  son,  sailing  away  with  Lilly  struggling  in  her  arma 


BEULAH.  91 

Eugene  was  sinking  and  Beulah  could  not  reacr  him  ;  he  held 
ap  his  arms  imploringly  toward  her,  and  called  upon  her  to 
save  him,  and  then  his  head  with  its  wealth*bf  silken,  brown 
locks  disappeared.  She  ceased  to  straggle  ;  she  welcomed 
drowning  now  that  he  had  gone  to  rest  among  coral  temples, 
She  sank  down — down.  The  rigid  corpses  were  no  longer  vis* 
ble.  She  was  in  an  emerald  palace,  and  myriads  of  rosy  shelll 
paved  the  floors.  At  last  she  found  Eugene  reposing  on  a  coral 
bank,  and  playing  witli  pearls  ;  she  hastened  to  join  him,  and 
was  just  taking  his  hand  when  a  horrible  phantom,  seizing  him 
in  its  arms,  bore  him  away,  and  looking  in  its  face  she  saw  that 
it  was  Mrs.  Chiltou.  With  a  wild  scream  of  terror,  Beulah  awoke. 
She  wp  lying  across  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  both  hands  were 
thrown  up,  grasping  the  post  convulsively.  The  room  was  dark, 
gave  where  the  moonlight  crept  through  the  curtains  and  fell 
slantingly  on  the  picture  of  Hope  and  the  Pilgrims,  and  by  that 
Jim  light  she  saw  a  tall  form  standing  near  her. 

"  Were  you  dreaming,  Beulah,  that  you  shrieked  so  wildly  ?*• 

The  doctor  lifted  her  up,  and  leaned  her  head  against  his 
shoulder. 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Hartwell !  I  have  had  a  horrible,  horrible  dream." 
She  shuddered,  and  clung  to  him  tightly,  as  if  dreading  it  might 
still  prove  a  reality. 

'•  Poor  child.  Come  with  me,  and  I  will  try  to  exorcise  this 
evil  spirit  which  haunts  even  your  slumbers." 

Keeping  her  hand  in  his,  he  led  her  down  to  his  study,  and 
seated  her  on  a  conch  drawn  near  the  window.  The  confused 
sound  of  many  voices,  and  the  tread  of  dancing  feet,  keeping 
time  to  a  band  of  music,  came  indistinctly  from  the  parlors.  Dr.  . 
Hartwell  closed  the  door,  to  shut  out  the  unwelcome  sounds  and 
Beating  himself  before  the  melodeon,  poured  a  flood  of  soothing, 
plaintive  melody  upon  the  air.  Beulah  sat  entranced,  while  ha 
played  on  and  on,  as  if  unconscious  of  her  presence.  Her  whol« 
being  was  inexpressibly  thrilled  ;  and,  forgetting  her  frightful 
ri*ion,  h«r  eiKaptured  soul  hovered  on  the  very  confines  of  fabled 


l)2  B  K  TJ  L  A  H  . 

elysinin.  Sliding  from  the  coach,  upon  her  knees,  she  remained 
-•  \  with  her  clasped  hands  pressed  over  her  heart,  only  conscious  of 
jher  trembling  deiight.  Ouce  or  twice  before,  she  had  felt  thur, 
in  \vati 'ling  a  gorgeous  sunset  in  the  old  pine  grove  ;  and  now 
as  the  musician  seemed  to  play  upon  her  heart-strings,  calling 
thence  unearthly  tones,  the  tears  rolled  swiftly  over  her  face 
linages  of  divine  beauty  filled  her  soul,  and  nobler  aspirations 
thau  she  had  ever  known,  took  possession  of  her.  Soon  the  tears 
ceased,  the  face  became  calm,  singularly  calm  ;  then  lighted 
with  an  expression  which  nothing  earthly  could  have  kindled.  It 
was  the  look  of  one,  whose  spirit,  escaping  from  gross  bondage, 
.  soared  into  realms  divine,  and  proclaimed  itself  God-born.  Dr 
Hartwcll  was  watching  her  countenance,  and,  as  the  expres- 
sion of  indescribable  joy  and  triumph  flashed  over  it,  he  iuvolun 
tarily  paused.  She  waited  till  the  last  deep  echoing  tone  died 
away,  and  then  approaching  him,  as  he  still  sat  before  the 
instrument,  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  knee,  and  said  slowly  : 

"  Oh  !  thank  you,  I  can  bear  anything  now." 

"  Can  you  explain  to  me  how  the  music  strengthened  you  ? 
Try,  will  you  ?" 

She  mused  for  some  moments,  and  answered  thoughtfully  : 

"First,  it  made  me  forget  the  pain  of  my  dream  ;  then  it 
caused  me  to  think  of  the  wonderful  power  which  created  music  j 
and  then,  from  remembering  the  infinite  love  and  wisdom  of  the 
Creator,  who  has  given  man  the  power  to  call  out  this  music,  I 
thought  how  very  noble  man  was,  and  what  he  was  capable  of 
doing  ;  and,  at  last,  I  was  glad  because  God  has  given  me  some 
of  these  powers  ;  and,  though  I  am  ugly,  and  have  been  afflicted 
in  losing  my  dear  loved  ones,  yet  I  was  made  for  God's  glory  in 
Boiuc  way,  and  am  yet  to  be  shown  the  work  he  has  laid  out  riT 
u.o  to  do.  Oh  1  sir,  I  can't  explain  it  all  to  you,  but  I  do  kno* 
that  God  will  prove  to  mo  that  "  He  doelli  all  things  well." 

She  looked  gravely  up  into  the  face  beside  her,  and  songiit  to 
read  its  baffling  characters.  He  had  leaned  his  elbow  on  the 
melodeoQ,  and  his  wax-like  fingers  were  thrust  through  his  hair 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  98 

His  brow  was  smooth,  and  his  month  at  rest,  tut  the  cla-k  eyes, 
with  their  melancholy  splendor,  looked  do\vn  at  her  moodily. 
They  met  her  gaze  steadily,  and  then  she  saw  into  the  mistj 
depths,  and  a  shudder  crept  over  her,  as  she  fell  on  her  knee* 
»ud  said,  shiveringly  : 

"  Oh,  sir,  can  it  be  ?" 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  head,  and  asked,  quietly  : 

"  Can  what  be,  child  I" 

"  Have  you  no  God  ?" 

His  face  grew  whiter  than  was  his  woiit.  A  scowl  of  bitter 
ness  settled  on  it,  and  the  eyes  burned  with  an  almost  unearthly 
brilliance,  as  he  rose  and  walked  away.  For  some  time  he  stood 
before  the  window,  with  his  arms  folded  ;  and,  laying  her  head 
on  the  stool  of  the  melodeon,  Beulah  knelt  just  as  he  left  her. 
It  has  been  said,  "  who  cau  refute  a  sneer  ?"  Rather  ask,  who 
can  compute  its  ruinous  effects.  To  that  kneeling  figure  came 
the  thought,  "  if  he,  surrounded  by  wealth,  and  friends,  and 
blessings,  cannot  believe  in  God,  what  cause  have  I,  poor, 
wretched  and  lonely,  to  have  faith  in  Him  ?"  The  bare  sugges- 
tion of  the  doubt  stamped  it  on  her  memory,  yet  she  shrank  with 
horror  from  the  idea,  and  an  eager,  voiceless  prayer  ascended 
from  her  heart,  that  she  might  be  shielded  from  such  temptations 
in  future.  Dr.  Hartwell  touched  her,  and  said,  in  his  usual 
low,  musical  tones  : 

"It,  is  time  you  were  asleep.  Do  not  indulge  in  any  more 
horrible  dreams,  if  you  please.  Good  night,  Beulah.  Whenever 
you  feel  that  you  would  like  to  have  some  music,  do  not  hesitate 
to  ask  me  for  it." 

He  held  open  the  door  for  her  to  pass  out.  She  longed  to  ask 
him  what  he  lived  for,  if  eternity  had  no  joys  for  hiu)  ;  but 
locking  in  his  pale  face,  she  saw  from  the  lips  and  eyes  that  he 
would  not  suffer  any  questioning,  and,  awed  by  the  expression  of 
his  countenance,  she  said  "  good  night,"  and  hurried  away.  The 
merry  hum  of  childish  voices  again  fell  on  her  ear,  and  as  she 
ascended  the  steps,  a  bevy  of  white-clad  girls  emerged  from  a 


94  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

room  near,  and  walked  on  just  below  her.  Pauline'*  party  was 
at  its  height.  Beulah  looked  down  ou  the  fairy  gossamer  robes, 
and  gayly  tripping  girls,  and  then  hastened  to  her  own  room, 
while  the  thought  presented  itself : 

"  Why  are  things  divided  so  unequally  in  this  world  ?  Why 
do  some  have  all  of  joy,  and  some  only  sorrow's  brimming  cup  to 
drain?"  But  the  sweet  voice  of  Faith  answered,  "  What  Ida, 
tfunt  knowest  not  now,  but  thou  shall  know  hereafter"  and,  trusting 
the  promise,  she  was  content  to  wait. 


CHAPTER    X. 

"  CORNELIA  GRAHAM,  I  want  to  know  why  yoa  did  not  come  to 
my  party  ?  You  might  at  least  have  honored  me  with  an 
excuse."  Such  was  Pauline's  salutation,  the  following  day,  when 
the  girls  gathered  in  groups  about  the  schoolroom. 

"Why,  Pauline,  I  did  send  an  excuse,  but  it  was  addressed 
to  your  mother,  and  probably  she  forgot  to  mention  it.  Yoa 
must  acquit  me  of  any  such  rudeness." 

"  Well,  but  why  didn't  you  come  ?  We  had  a  glorious  time. 
I  have  half  a  mind  not  to  tell  you  what  I  heard  said  of  you, 
but  I  believe  you  may  have  it  second-hand.  Fred  Vincent  was 
as  grum  as  a  preacher,  all  the  evening,  and  when  I  asked  him 
what  on  earth  made  him  so  surly  and  owlish,  he  said,  '  it  was 
too  provoking  you  would  not  come,  for  no  one  else  could  dar^e 
the  Schottisch  to  his  liking.'  Now  there  was  a  sweet  specimen 
of  manners  for  you!  You  had  better  teach  your  beau  politeness. " 

Cornelia  was  leaning  listlessly  against  Clara's  desk,  and. 
Beulah  fancied  she  looked  very  sad,  and  abstracted.  Sh« 
colored  at  the  jest,  and  answered  contemptuously  : 

"  He  is  no  beau  of  mine,  let  me  tell  you,  and  as  for  manner^ 
I  commend  him  to  your  merciful  tuition." 


B  «  U  L  A  H  .  UC 

"  But  what  was  your  excuse  ?"  persisted  Pauline. 

"  I  should  think  you  might  conjecture,  that  I  felt  lie  inelhia 
tion  to  go  to  parties  and  dance,  when  you  know  that  we  are  ail 
GO  anxious  about  my  brother." 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  think  of  that  1"  cried  the  heedless  girl,  and 
<juite  as  heedlessly  she  continued^,: 

"  I  v/ant  to  see  that  brother  of  yours.  Uncle  Guy  says  he 
is  the  handsomest  boy  in  the  city,  and  promises  to  make  some 
thing  extraordinary.  Is  he  so  very  handsome  ?" 

"  Yes,"  the  proud  lip  trembled. 

"  I  heard  Anne  Vernon  say,  she  liked  him  better  than  all  her 
other  beaux,  and  that  is  great  praise,  coming  from  her  queen- 
ship,"  said  Emily  Wood,  who  stood  near. 

Cornelia's  eyes  dilated  angrily,  as  she  answered  with  curling 
lips  : 

"  Eugene  one  of  her  beaux  !     It  is  no  such  thing." 

"  You  need  not  look  so  insulted.  I  suppose  if  the  matter  is 
such  a  delicate  one  with  you,  Anne  will  withdraw  her  claim," 
sneered  Emily,  happy  in  the  opportunity  affprded  of  wounding 
the  haughty  spirit,  whom  all  feared,  and  few  sympathized  with. 

Corneiia  was  about  to  retort,  but  madam's  voice  prevented,  aa 
leaning  from  the  platform  opposite,  she  held  out  a  note,  and 
said, 

"  Miss  Graham,  a  servant  has  just  brought  this  for  you." 

The  girl's  face  flushed  and  paled  alternately,  as  she  received 
the  note,  and  broke  the  seal  with  trembling  fingers.  Glancing 
over  the  contents,  her  countenance  became  irradiated,  and  she 
exclaimed  joyfully  : 

"  Good  news  !  the  Morning  Star  has  arrived  at  Amsterdam. 
Eugene  is  safe  in  Germany." 

Beulah's  head  went  down  on  her  desk,  and  just  audible  wer« 
Ihe  words, 

"  My  Father  in  Heaven,  I  thank  thee  !M 

Only  Clara  and  Cornelia  heard  the  broken  accents,  and  thef 
looked  curiously  at  the  bowed  figure,  Quivering  with  joy. 


06  BKULAH. 

"  All  !  I  understand  ;  this  is  the  Asylum,  Bculah,  I  have  offcaa 
heard  him  speak  of.  I  had  almost  forgotten  the  circumstance. 
You  knew  him  very  well,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Cornelia,  addressing 
herself  to  the  orphan,  and  crumpling  the  note  between  her 
fibers,  while  her  eyes  rail  with  haughty  scrutiny  over  the  dress 
arul  features  before  her 

l;  Yes,  I  knew  him  very  well."  Beulah  felt  the  blood  coma 
into  her  cheeks,  and  she  ill-brooked  the  cold,  searching  look  bent 
npon  her. 

"  You  are  the  same  girl  that  he  asked  my  father  to  send  to 
the  public  school.  How  came  you  here  ?" 

A  pair  of  dark  grey  eyes  met  Cornelia's  gaze,  and  seeme . 
to  answer  defiantly,  "  What  is  it  to  you  ?" 

"  Has  Dr  Hartwell  adopted  you  ?  Pauline  said  so,  but  she 
is  so  heedless,  that  I  scarcely  believed  her,  particularly  when  it 
seemed  so  very  improbable." 

"  Hush,  Cornelia  !  Why,  you  need  Pauline's  tuition  about  as 
much  as  Fred  Vincent,  I  am  disposed  to  think.  Don't  be  so 
inquisitive,  it  pains  her,"  remonstrated  Clara,  laying  her  arm 
around  Beulah's  shoulder  as  she  spoke. 

"  Nonsense  !  She  is  not  so  fastidious,  I  will  warrant.  At 
least,  she  might  answer  civil  questions." 

"  I  always  do,"  said  Buulah. 

Cornelia  smiled  derisively,  and  turned  off,  with  the  parting 
taunt : 

"  It  is  a  mystery  to  me  what  Eugene  can  see  in  such  a 
homely,  unpolished* specimen.  He  pities  her,  I  suppose." 

Clara  felt  a  long  shiver  creep  over  the  slight  form,  and  saw 
the  ashen  hue  that  settled  on  her  face,  as  if  some  painful  wound 
had  been  inflicted.  Stooping  down,  she  whispered  : 

"  Don't  let  it  trouble  you.  Cornelia  is  hasty,  but  she  i* 
generous,  too,  and  will  repent  her  rudeness.  She  did  not  intend 
to  pain  you  ;  it  is  only  her  abrupt  way  of  expressing  herself." 

Bctilah  raised  her  head,  and  putting  back  the  locks  of  hail 
that  had  fallen  over  her  brow,  replied  coldly: 


BE  f  L  AH.  VI 

"  It  is  nothing  new  ;  I  am  accustomed  to  stub  treatment. 
Only  professing  to  love  Eugene,  I  did  not  expect  her  to  insult 
oue,  whom  he  had  commissioned  her  to  assist,  or  at  least  sympa- 
thize with." 

"  Remember,  Beulah,  she  is  an  only  child,  and  her  father* 
iiil,  and  perhaps  " 

"  The  very  blessings  that  surround  her  should  teach  her  U 
feel  for  the  unfortunate  and  unprotected,"  interrupted  the 
orphan. 

"You  will  find  that  prosperity  rarely  has  such  an  effect  upon 
the  heart  of  its  favorite,"  answered  Clara,  musingly. 

"An  unnecessary  piece  of  information.  I  discovered  that 
pleasant  truth  some  time  since,"  said  Beulah,  bitterly. 

"  I  don't  know,  Beulah  ;  you  are  an  instance  to  the  contrary. 
Do  not  call  yourself  unfortunate,  so  long  as  Doctor  Hartwell 
is  your  friend.  Ah  1  you  little  dream  how  blessed  you  are." 

Her  voice  took  the  deep  tone  of  intense  feeling,  and  a  faint 
glow  tinged  her  cheek. 

"  Yes,  he  is  very  kind,  very  good,"  replied  the  other,  more 
gently. 

"  Kind  1  good  !  is  that  all  you  can  say  ef  him  ?"  The  soft 
brown  eyes  kindled  with  unwonted  enthusiasm. 

"  What  more  can  I  say  of  him,  than  that  he  is  good  ?" 
returned  the  orphan,  eagerly,  while  the  conversation  in  the  study, 
the  preceding  day,  rushed  to  her  recollection. 

Clara  looked  at  her  earnestly  fur  a  moment,  and  then  averting 
her  head,  answered  evasively. 

"  Pardon  me  ;  I  have  no  right  to  dictate  the  terms  in  whie>x 
TCU  should  mention  your  benefactor."  Beulah's  intuitions  were 
cmarkably  quick,  and  she  asked,  slowly  : 

'Do  you  know  him  well  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  oh,  yes  !  very  vrell  indeed.     Why  do  you  ask  P 

"  And  you  like  him  very  much  ?" 

"  Very  much." 

She  saw  the  gentle  face  now  and  &aw  that  some  sorrow  had 


98  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

called  tears  to  the  eyes,  and  sent  the  blood  coldly  back  to  KM 
heart. 

"  No  one  can  like  him  as  I  do.  You  don't  know  how  verj 
kind  he  has  been  to  me — me,  the  miserable,  lonely  orphan/ 
amrmured  Beulah,  as  his  smile  and  tones  recurred  to  her. 

"  Yes,  I  can  imagine,  because  I  know  his  noble  heart ;  and, 
herefore,  child,  I  say  you  cannot  realize  how  privileged  you 
are." 

The  discussion  was  cut  short  by  a  call  to  recitation,  and  too 
calmly  happy  in  the  knowledge  of  Eugene's  safety,  to  ponder  her 
companion's  manner,  Beulah  sank  into  a  reverie,  in  which  Eugene, 
and  Heidelberg,  ami  long  letters,  mingled  pleasingly.  Later  i» 
the  day,  as  she  and  Pauline  were  descending  the  steps,  the  door 
of  the  primary  department  of  ihe  school  opened,  and  a  littlt 
girl,  clad  in  deep  black,  started  up  the  same  flight  of  steps 
Seeing  the  two  above,  she  leaned  against  the  wall,  waiting  for 
them  to  pass.  Beulah  stood  still,  and  the  sachel  she  carried  fell 
unheeded  from  her  hand,  while  a  thrilling  cry  broke  from  the 
little  girl's  lips  ;  and  springing  up  the  steps,  she  threw  herself 
into  Beulah's  arms. 

"  Dear'Beulah  I  I  have  found  you  at  last  1"  She  covered  tho 
thin  face  with  passionate  kisses  ;  then  heavy  sobs  escaped  her, 
and  the  two  wept  bitterly  together. 

"  Beulah,  I  did  love  her  very  much  ;  I  did  not  forget  what  I 
promised  you.  She  used  to  put  her  arms  around  my  neck  every 
aight,  and  go  to  sleep  close  to  me  ;  and  whenever  she  thought 
about  you  and  cried,  she  always  put  her  head  in  my  lap.  Indeed 
I  did  love  her." 

'  1  believe  you,  Claudy/'  poor  Beulah  groaned,  in  her  anguish, 

"They  did  not  tell  me  she  was  dead  ;  they  said  she  was  sick 
ill  another  room  1  Oh,  Beulah  1  why  didn't  you  come  to  seo 
ns  ?  Why  didn't  you  come  ?  When  she  was  first  taken  sick, 
she  called  for  you  all  the  tune ;  and  the  evening  they  moved  me 
into  the  next  room,  she  was  asking  for  you.  '  i  waul  my  sistei 
I  want  my  Beulah  1'  was  the  last  thmg  I  heard  h& 


BET3LAH.  OS 

nay;  and  when  I  cried  for  you,  too,  mamma  said  we  were  both 
crazy  with  fever.  Oh  1" — she  paused  and  sobbed  convulsively 
Beulah  raised  her  head,  and  while  the  tears  dried  in  her  flashing 
eyes,  said  fiercely  : 

"  Claudy,  I  did  go  to  see  you  !  On  my  kuees,  at  Mrs.  Gray 
Sw's  front  door,  I  prayed  her  to  let  me  see  you.  She  refused, 
and  ordered  me  to  come  there  no  more  !  She  would  not  suffer 
my  sister  to  know  that  I  was  waiting  there  on  my  kuees  to  see 
her  dear,  angel  face.  That  was  long  before  you  were  taken  sick. 
She  did  not  even  send  me  word  that  Lilly  was  ill  ;  I  knew 
nothing  of  it,  till  my  darling  was  cold  in  her  little  shroud  1  Oh, 
Claudy  !  Claudy  1" 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  tried  to  stifle  the 
wail  that  crossed  her  lips.  Claudia  endeavored  to  soothe  her,  by 
winding  her  arms  about  her  and  kissing  her  repeatedly.  Pauline 
had  looked  wonderingly  on,  during  this  painful  reunion  ;  and 
now  drawing  nearer,  she  said,  with  more  gentleness  than  was 
her  custom  : 

"  Don't  grieve  so,  Beulah.  Wipe  your  eyes  and  come  home  : 
those  girls  yonder  are  staring  at  you." 

"What  business  is  it  of  yours?"  began  Claudia;  but  Bengali'* 
sensitive  nature  shrank  from  observation,  and  rising  hastily,  she 
took  Claudia  to  her  bosom,  kissed  her  and  turned  away. 

"  Oh,  Beulah  1  shan't  I  see  you  again  ?"  cried  the  latter,  with 
streaming  eyes. 

"  Claudia,  your  mamma  would  not  be  willing." 

"  I  don't  care  what  she  thinks.  Please,  come  to  see  me-— 
please,  do  !  Beulah,  you  don't  love  me  now,  because  Lilly  is 
dead  1  Oh,  I  could  not  keep  her — God  took  her  1" 

"Yes,  I  do  love  you,  Claudy — more  than  ever  ;  hut  you  trust 
Come  to  see  me.  I  cannot  go  to  that  house  again.  1  can't  se« 
your  mamma  Graysou.  Come  and  see  me,  darling  1" 

She  drew  her  bonnet  o^er  her  face  aud  hurried  out. 

"  Wh'ire  do  you  live  ?  i  will  come  and  see  you  1"  crien  Claudia 
after  the  retreating  form. 


100  BEL'  LA  II. 

"  She  lives  at  Doctor  Hartwell's — that  large,  brick  house,  oal 
on  the  edge  of  town  ;  everybody  knows  the  place." 

Pauline  turned  back  to  give  this  piece  of  information,  and 
then  hastened  on  to  join  Beulah.  She  longed  to  iiiqviiru  into  ali 
the  particulars  of  the  orphan's  early  life  ;  but  the  pale,  fixed 
face  gave  no  encouragement  to  question,  and  thoy  walked  on  iu 
perfect  silence  until  they  reached  the  gate  at  the  end  of  the 
avenue.  Then  Pauline  asked,  energetically: 

"  Is  that  little  one  any  kin  to  you  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  have  no  kin  in  this  world,"  answered  Beulah, 
drearily. 

Pauline  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  made  no  further  attempt 
to  elicit  confidence.  On  entering  the  house,  they  encountered 
the  doctor,  who  was  crossing  the  hall.  lie  stopped,  and 
said  . 

"  I  have  glad  tidings  for  you,  Beulah.  The  Morning  Star 
arrived  safely  at  Amsterdam,  and  by  this  time,  Eugene  is  at 
Heidelberg." 

Beulah  stood-  very  near  him,  and  answered  tremblingly  : 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  heard  it  at  school." 

He  perceived  that  something  was  amiss,  and  untying  her  bou« 
uet,  looked  searchingly  at  the  sorrow-stained  face.  She  shut  her 
eyes,  and  leaned  her  head  against  him. 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  child?  I  thought  you  would  be 
eery  happy  in  hearing  of  Eugene's  safety." 

She  was  unable  to  reply  just  then  ;  and  Pauline,  who  stood 
swinging  her  sachcl  to  and  fro,  volunteered  an  explanation. 

"  Uncle  Guy,  she  is  curious,  that  is  all.  As  we  were  leaving 
BCliool,  she  met  a  little  girl  on  the  steps,  and  they  flew  at  each 
other,  and  cried,  aiid  kissed,  and — you  never  saw  anything  lika 
it  I  1  thought  the  child  must  be  a  very  dear  relation  ;  but  shu 
says  she  has  no  kin.  I  don't  see  the  use  of  crying  her  eyes  ouv, 
particularly  when  the  little  one  is  nothing  to  her." 

IJer  uncle's  countenance  "csurned  its  habitual  severity,  and 
taking  Beulah's  haad,  he  led  Lcr  into  that  quietest  of  all  quiel 


BEDLAH.  104 

places,  his  study.     Seating  himself,  and  drawing  her  to  his  side    ' 
he  said: 

"  Was  it  meeting  Claudia  that  distressed  you  so  much  ?    That 
child  is  very  warmly  attached  to  you.     She  raved  about  yoo  - 
constantly  during  her  illness.     So  did  Lilly.     I  did  not  under 
Etand   the  relationship  then,  or  I  should  have  interfered,  and 
carried  you  to  her.     I  called  to  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  last 
week,  to  remove  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of  your  intercourse 
with  Claudia,  but  they  were  not  at  home.     I  will  arrange  mat- 
ters so  that  you  m:vy  be  with  Claudia  as  often  as  possible.    You   / 
have  been  wronged,  child,  T  know;  but  try  to  bury  it;  it  is  all 
past  now."     lie  softly  smoothed  back  her  hair  as  he  spoke. 

"No,  sir;  it  never  will  be  pastj  it  will  always  be  burning 
nere  in  my  heart." 

"  I  thought  you  professed  to  believe  in  the  Bible." 

She  looked  up  instantly,  and  answered: 

"  I  do,  sir.     I  do." 

"  Then  your  belief  is  perfectly  worthless;  for  the  Bible  charges 
you  to  '  forgive  and  love  your  enemies,'  and  here  you  are  trying   ; 
to  fau  your  bate  into  an  everlasting  flame." 

She  saw  the  scornful  curl  of  his  lips,  and  sinking  down  beside 
him,  siie  laid  her  head  on  his  knee,  and  said  hastily: 

"  I  know  it  is  wrong,  sinful,  to  feel  toward  Mrs.  Grayson  as  I 
do.  Yes,  sir;  the  Bible  tells  me  it  is  very  sinful;  but  I  have 
been  so  miserable,  I  could  not  help  hating  her.  But  I  will  try 
to  do  so  no  more.  I  will  ask  God  to  help  me  forgive  her."  His 
face  flushed  even  to  his  temples,  and  then  the  blood  receded, 
leaving  it  like  sculptured  marble.  Unable  or  unwilling  to  answer, 
he  put  his  hands  on  her  head,  softly,  reverently,  as  though  he 
touched  something  ethereal.  lie  little  dreamed  that,  even  then, 
that  suffering  heart  was  uplifted  to  the  Throne  of  Grace,  pray- 
ing the  Father  that  she  might  so  live  and  govern  herself,  thai 
he  might  come  to  believe  the  Bible,  which  her  clear  insight  tot 
ly  told  her  he  despised. 

Oh!  protean  temptation.     Even  a?  she  knelt,  with  her  pro 


102  B  K  U  L  A  H  . 

lector's  hands  resting  on  her  brow,  ubiquitous  evil  suggested  th 
thought:     "  Is  he  not  kinder,  and  better,  than  any  one  you  evei 
knew  ?     Has  not  Mrs.  Graysoa  a  pew  in  the  most  fashionable 
chur  :h  ?     Did  not  Eugene  teil  you  he  saw  liar  there,  regular !\> 
every  Sunday?    Professing  Christianity,  she  injured  you;  reject- 
ing it,  he  has  guarded  and  most  generously  aided  you.    '  By  the!! 
fruits  ye  shall  judge.'"     Very  dimly  all  this  passed  through  he. 
mind.     She  was  perplexed  and  troubled  at  the  confused  ideas 
veiling  her  trust. 

"  Beulah,  I  have  an  engagement,  and  must  leave  you.  Stay 
here  if  you  like,  or  do  as  you  please  with  yourself.  I  shall  not 
be  home  to  tea,  so  good  night."  She  looked  pained,  but 
remained  silent.  lie  smiled,  and  drawing  out  his  watch,  said 
gaily: 

"  I  verily  believe  yon  miss  me  when  I  leave  you.  Go,  pur.  ou 
your  other  bonnet,  and  come  down  to  the  front  door;  I  have 
nearly  an  hour  yet,  I  see,  and  will  give  you  a  short  ride.  Hurry, 
child;  I  don't  like  to  wait." 

She  was  soon  seated  beside  him  in  the  buggy,  and  Mazeppa's 
wift  feet  had  borne  them  some  distance  from  home  ere  either 
spoke.  The  road  ran  near  the  bay,  and  while  elegant  residences 
lined  one  side,  the  other  was  bounded  by  a  wide  expanse  oi 
jrater,  rippling,  sparkling,  glowing  in  the  evening  sunlight. 
Small  sail  boats,  with  their  gleaming  canvas,  dotted  the  blue 
bosom  of  the  bay;  and  the  balmy  breeze,  fresh  from  the  gulf, 
fluttered  the  bright  pennons  that  floated  from  their  masts. 
Beulah  was  watching  the  snowy  wall  of  foam,  piled  on  either 
side  of  the  prow  of  a  schooner,  and  thinking  how  very  beautiful 
it  was,  when  the  buggy  stopped  suddenly,  and  Dr.  Hartwell 
undressed  a  gentleman  on  horseback: 

"  Percy,  you  may  expect  me;  I  am  coming  as  1  promised." 

"  I  was  about  to  remind  you  of  your  engagement.  But,  Guy, 
whom  have  you  there?" 

"My  protegee  I  told  you  of.  Beulah,  this  is  Mi  Lockhart." 
The  riier  reined  his  horse  near  her  side,  and  leaning  forward  at 


B  E  U  L  A  3  .  103 

be  raised  his  bat,  Jieir  eyes  met.     Both  started  visibly,  and 
extending  bis  hand,  Mr.  Lockhart  said  eagerly: 

"  Ah,  my  little  forest  friend!  I  am  truly  glad  to  find  you  again." 
.  She  shook  hands  very  quietly,  but  an  expression  of  pleasrr 
stole  over  her  face.  Her  guardian  observed  it,  and  asked: 

"  Pray,  Percy,  what  do  you  know  of  her  T' 

"  That  she  sings  very  charmingly,"  answered  his  friend,  smil 
ing  at  Beulah. 

"  He  saw  me  once  when  I  was  at  the  Asylum,"  said  she. 

"  And  was  singing  part  of  the  regime  there  ?" 

"No,  Guy;  she  was  wandering  about  the  piney  woods,  near 
the  Asylum,  with  two  beautiful  elves,  when  I  chanced  to  meet 
her.  She  was  singing  at  the  time.  Beulah,  I  am  glad  to  find 
you  out  again;  and  in  future,  when  I  pay  the  doctor  long  visits, 
I  shall  expect  you  to  appear  for  my  entertainment.  Look  to  it, 
Gu^.  that  she  is  present.  But  I  am  fatigued  with  my  unusual 
exercise,  and  must  return  home.  Good  bye,  Beulah;  shake 
hands.  I  am  going  immediately  to  my  room,  Guy;  so  come  as 
Boon  as  you  can."  He  rode  slowly  on,  while  Dr.  Hartwell  shook 
the  reins,  and  Mazeppa  sprang  down  the  road  again.  Beulah 
had  remarked  a  great  alteration  in.  Mr.  Lockhart's  appearance; 
he  was  much  paler,  and  bore  traces  of  recent  and  severe  illness. 
His  genial  manner  and  friendly  words  had  interested  her,  and 
looking  up  at  her  guardian,  she  said,  timidly: 

"Is  he  ill,  sir?" 

"  He  has  been,  and  is  yet  quite  feeble.     Do  you  like  him  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  of  him,  except  that  he  spoke  to  me  one 
evening  some  months  ago.  Does  he  live  here,  sir  ?" 

"No;  he  has  a  plantation  on  the  river,  but  is  here  on  a  visit 
occasionally.  Much  of  his  life  has  been  spent  in  Europe,  and 
thither  he  goes  ajrain  very  soon." 

The  sun  had  set  The  bay  seemed  a  vast  sheet  of  fire,  as  the 
crimson  clouds  cast  their  shifting  shadows  on  its  bosom;  ind 
forgetting  everything  else,  Beulah  leaned  out  of  the  buggy,  and 
tti'ti  almoet  unconsciously; 


104  B  E  P  L  A  E  . 

"How  beautiful!  ho\»  very  beautiful!"  Her  lips  were  parted 
her  eyes  clear,  and  sparkling  with  delight.  Dr.  Ilartwell  sighed, 
and  turning  from  the  bay  road,  approached  his  home.  Beulah 
longed  to  speak  to  him  of  what  was  pressing  on  her  heart,  but 
glancing  at  his  countenance  to  see  whether  it  was  an  auspicious 
time,  she  was  deterred  by  the  sombre  sternness  which  over- 
shadowed it,  and  before  she  could  summon  courage  to  speak, 
they  stopped  at  the  front  gate: 

"  Jump  out,  and  go  home;  I  have  not  time  to  drive  in/' 

She  got  out  of  the  buggy,  and  looking  up  at  him  as  he  rose 
to  adjust  conic  part  of  the  harness,  said  bravely: 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  my  ride.  I  have  not 
had  such  a  pleasure  for  years.  I  thank  you  very  much." 

"All  very  unnecessary,  child.     I  am  glad  you  enjoyed  it." 

He  seated  himself,  and  gathered  up  the  reins,  without  looking 
at  her;  but  she  put  her  hand  on  the  top  of  the  wheel,  and  said 
in  an  apologetic  tone: 

"  Excuse  me,  sir  ;  but  may  I  wait  in  your  study  till  you  come 
home  ?  I  want  to  ask  you  something."  Her  face  flushed,  and 
her  voice  trembled  with  embarrassment. 

"  It  may  be  late  before  I  come  home  to-night.  Can't  you  tell 
me  now  what  you  want  ?  I  can  wait." 

"  Thank  you,  sir;  to-morrow  will  do  as  well,  I  suppose.  I  will 
not  detain  you."  She  opened  the  gate  and  entered  the  yard 
Dr.  llartwcll  looked  after  her  an  instant,  and  called  out,  as-  he 
drove  on  : 

"  Do  as  you  like,  Beulah,  about  waiting  for  me  ;  of  course  the 
study  is  free  to  you  at  all  times." 

The  walk,  or  rather  carriage-road,  leading  up  to  the  house  was 
bordered  by  stately  poplars  and  cedars,  whose  branches  inter 
laced  overhead,  and  formed  a  perfect  arch.  Beulah  looked  uf 
at  the  dark-green  depths  among  the  cedars,  and  walked  on  with 
a  feeling  of  contentment,  nay,  almost  of  happiness,  which  was  a 
stranger  to  her  heart.  In  front  of  the  house,  and  in  the  centre 
of  a  grassy  circle  was  a  marble  basin,  from  which  a  fount  au 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  J  Oi 

»8i  ended.  She  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  reservoir,  and  taking 
off  her  bonnet,  gave  unrestrained  license  to  her  wandering 
thoughts.  Wherever  her  eyes  turned,  verdure,  flowers,  statuan 
met  her  gaze  ;  the  air  was  laden  with  the  spicy  fragrance  of 
jasmins,  and  the  low,  musical  babble  of  the  fountain  had  some 
thing  very  soothing  in  its  sound.  "With  her  keen  appreciation  of 
beauty,  there  was  nothing  needed  to  enhance  her  enjoyment ; 
and  she  ceased  to  remember  her  sorrows.  Before  long,  however, 
she  was  startled  by  the  sight  of  several  elegantly  dressed  ladies, 
emerging  from  the  house  ;  at  the  same  instant  a  handsome  car- 
riage, which  she  had  not  previously  observed,  drove  from  a  turn 
in  the  walk  and  drew  up  to  the  door  to  receive  them.  Mrs 
Chilton  stood  on  the  steps,  exchanging  smiles  and  polite  nothings 
and  as  one  of  the  party  requested  permission  to  break  a  sprig  ol 
geranium  growing  near,  she  gracefully  offered  to  collect  t 
bouquet,  adding,  as  she  severed  some  elegant  clusters  of  nelio 
trope  and  jasmin  : 

"  Guy  takes  -inordinate  pride  in  his  par.'erre,  arranges  and 
overlooks  all  the  flowers  himself.  I  often  tell  him  I  am  jealous 
of  -ny  beautiful  rivals  ;  they  monopolize  his  leisure  so  completely.' 

"  Nonsense  I  we  know  to  our  cost,  that  you  of  all  others  need 
fear  rivalry  from  no  quarter.  There  :  don't  break  any  more 
What  superb  taste  the  doctor  has  !  This  lovely  spot  comes 
nearer  my  ideal  of  European  elegance  than  any  place  I  know  ai 
the  South.  I  suppose  the  fascination  of  his  home  makes  him 
riuch  a  recluse  1  Why  doesn't  he  visit  more  ?  He  neglects  us 
shamefully  !  He  is  such  a  favorite  in  society  too  ;  only  I  believe 
everybody  is  rather  afraid  of  him.  I  shall  make  a  most  desperatt 
effort  to  charm  him,  so  soon  as  an  opportunity  offers.  Don't  tell 
toim  I  said  so,  though, '  fore-warned,  fore-armed.' "  All  this  was 
?erj  vi.lubly  uttered  by  a  dashing,  showy  young  lady,  dressed 
in  the  extreme  of  fashion,  and  bearing  unmistakable  marks  \ 
of  belonging  to  beau  monde.  She  extended  a  hand  cased  iu  whit«  ' 
kid,  for  the  flowers,  and  looked  steadily  at  the  ladj  of  the  ho>w» 
»s  she  spoke. 

6* 


106  B  E  TJ  L  JL  H  . 

"  I  shall  not  betray  your  designs,  Miss  Julia.  Guy  is  a  great 
.over  of  the  beautiful,  aud  I  am  not  aware  that  anywhere  in  the 
book  of  fate  is  written  the  decree  that  he  shall  not  marry  again. 
Take  care,  yon  are  tearing  your  lace  point  on  that  rose  bush  : 
let  me  disengage  it."  She  stooped  to  rescue  the  cobweb  wrap* 
^iug,  and  looking  about  her,  Miss  Julia  exclaimed  : 

"Is  that  you,  Pauline  ?  Come  and  kiss  me  1  Why,  you  look 
as  unsociable  as  your  uncle,  sitting  there  all  alone  I" 

She  extended  her  hand  toward  Beulah,  who,  as  may  be  sup- 
posed, made  no  attempt  to  approach  her.  Mrs.  Chiiton  smiled, 
and  clasping  the  bracelet  on  her  arm,  discovered  to  her  visitor 
the  mistake. 

"  Pauline  is  not  at  home.  That  is  a  little  beggarly  orphan 
Guy  took  it  into  his  head  to  feed  and  clothe,  till  some  opportu- 
nity offered  of  placing  her  in  a  respectable  home.  I  have  teased 
him  unmercifully  about  this  display  of  taste  ;  asked  him  what 
rank  he  assigned  her  in  his  catalogue  otueautiful  treasures.'' 
She  laughed  as  if  much  amused. 

"  Oh,  that  reminds  me  that  I  heard  some  of  the  school-girls 
Bay  that  the  doctor  had  adopted  an  orphan.  I  thought  I  would 
ask  you  about  it.  Mother  here  declared  that  she  knew  it  could 
Dot  be  so,  but  I  told  her  he  was  so  very  odd,  there  was  no  ac- 
counting for  his  notions.  So  he  has  not  adopted  her." 

"  Pshaw  !  of  course  not  1  She  was  a  wretched  little  object  o? 
oharity,  aud  Guy  brought  her  here  to  keep  her  from  starving. 
He  picked  her  up  at  the  hospital,  I  believe." 

"  I  knew  it  must  be  a  mistake.  Come,  Julia,  remember  yon 
are  going  out  to-night,  and  it  is  quite  late.  Do  come  very  soon, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Chiiton."  Mrs.  Vincent,  Miss  Julia,  and  theiz 
companions  entered  the  carriage,  and  were  soon  out  of  night 
Ek-ulah  still  sat  at  the  fountaiu.  She  would  gladly  have  retreated 
on  the  appearance  of  the  strangers,  but  could  not  effect  an  escape 
without  attracting  the  attention  she  so  earnestly  desired  to  be 
cpared,  aud  therefore  kept  her  seat.  Every  word  of  the  conver- 
sation which  had  been  carried  on  in  anythbg  but  a  subdued 


B  £  U  L  A  H  .  101 

icne,  reached  ner,  and  though  the  head  was  unbowed  as  J"she 
Imd  heard  nothing,  her  face  was  dyed  with  shame.  Her  heart 
throbbed  violently,  and  as  the  words,  "  beggarly  orphan," 
"  wretched  object  of  charity,"  fell  on  her  cars,  it  seemed  as  if  a 
fieTce  fire-bath  had  received  her.  As  the  carriage  disappeared^ 
Mrs.  Chiitou  approached  her,  and  stang  to  desperation  by  the 
merciless  taunts,  she  instantly  rose  and  confronted  her.  Never 
had  she  seen  the  widow  look  so  beautiful,  and  for  a  moment 
they  eyed  each  other. 

"  "What  are  you  doing  here,  after  having  been  told  to  keep 
out  of  sight  ? — answer  me  1"      She  spoke  with  the  inflexible  j 
sternness  of  a  mistress  to  an  offending  servant. 

"  Madam,  I  arn  not  the  miserable  beggar  you  represented  me 
a  moment  since  ;  nor  will  I  answer  questions  addressed  in  anyj 
such  tone  of  authority  and  contempt." 

"  Indeed  1  well,  then,  my  angelic  martyr,  how  do  you  propose 
to  help  yourself  ?"  answered  Mrs.  Chilton,  laughing,  with  undi*- 
'  guised  scorn. 

"  Doctor  Hartwell  brought  me  to  his  house,  of  his  own 
accord  ;  you  know  that  I  was  scarcely  conscious  when  I  came 
into  it.  He  has  been  very  kind  to  me — has  offered  to  adopt  me« 
This  you  know  perfectly  well.  But  I  am  not  in  danger  of  starva- 
tion, away  from  this  house.  You  know  that  instead  of  having 
been  picked  up  at  the  hospital,  I  was  earning  my  living,  humble 
though  it  was,  as  a  servant.  He  offered  to  adopt  me,  because 
he  saw  that  I  was  very  unhappy  ;  not  because  I  needed  food,  or 
clothes,  as  you  asserted  just  now,  and  as  you  knew  was  untrue. 
Madam,  I  have  known,  ever  since  my  recovery,  that  you  hated 
nie,  and  I  scorn  to  accept  bounty,  nay,  even  a  shelter,  where 
1  ain  so  unwelcome.  I  have  never  dreamed  of  occupying 
the  place  you  covet  for  Pauline.  I  intended  to  accept  Doctor 
liartweil's  kindness-,  so  far  as  receiving  an  education,  which 
would  enable  me  to  support  myself  less  laboriously  ;  but, 
tna,dauv  I  will  relieve  you  of  my  hated  presence,  i  can  Uv€ 
without  any  assistance  from  your  family.  The  despised  and 


i.08  B  E  U  L  A  H 

ridiculed  orphan  will  not  mnain  to  annoy  you.  Oh,  you  nrighi 
have  effected  your  purpose  with  less  cruelty  !  You  could  have 
told  me  kindly  that  you  did  not  want  me  here,  and  I  would 
not  hare  wondered  at  it.  But  to  crush  me  publicly,  as  you  have 
done  " — wounded  pride  stifled  the  trembling  accents. 

Mrs.  Chilton  bit  her  lip.  She  had  not  expected  this  expres- 
sion of  proud  independence  ;  and  seeing  that  she  had  gone  too 
fur,  pondered  the  best  method  of  rectifying  the  mischief  with  as 
little  compromise  of  personal  dignity  as  possible.  Ultimately  to 
eject  her,  she  had  intended  from  the  first ;  but  perfectly  con 
scious  that  her  brother  would  accept  no  explanation  or  palliation 
of  the  girl's  departure  at  this  juncture,  and  that  she  and  Pauline 
would  soon  follow  her  from  the  house,  she  felt  that  her  own 
interest  demanded  the  orphan's  presence  for  a  season.  Nearly 
(^blinded  by  tears  of  indignation  and  mortification,  Beulah  turned 
from  her,  but  the  delicate  white  hand  arrested  her,  and  pressed 
heavily  on  her  shoulder.  She  drew  herself  up,  and  tried  to 
iihake  off  the  hold,  but  firm  as  iron  was  the  grasp  of  the  snowy 
fingers,  and  calm  and  cold  as  an  Arctic  night  was  the  tone  which 
said  : 

"  Pshaw  !  girl,  are  you  mad  ?  You  have  sense  enough  tc 
know  that  you  are  one  too  many  in  this  house,  but  if  you  only 
desire  to  be  educated,  as  you  profess,  why,  I  am  perfectly  willing 
that  you  should  remain  here.  The  idea  of  your  growing  up  us 
my  brother's  heiress  and  adopted  child  was  too  preposterous  to 
be  entertained,  aud  you  can  see  the  absurdity  yourself;  but  so 
long  as  you  understand  matters  properly,  and  merely  desire  to 
receive  educational  advantages,  of  course  you  can  and  will  re 
main.  I  do  not  wish  this  to  go  any  further/ and,  as  a  sensible 
girl,  you  will  not  mention  it.  As  a  friend,  however,  I  would 
suggest  that  you  should  av/oid  putting  yourself  in  the  way  of 
observation."  As  she  concluded,  she  quietly  bru&hed  off  a  small 
spider,  which  was  creeping  over  Beulah's  sleeve. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  madam  ;  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  o/ 
poisonous  things  j  I  have  become  accustomed  to  them-" 


B  £  U  L  A  H  .  101 

Smiling  bitterly,  she  stooped  to  pick  np  jer  new  bonnet,  \vhici 
Dad  fallen  on  the  grass  at  her  feet,  and  fixing  hsr  eyes  denautl) 
on  the  handsome  face  before  her,  said,  resolutely  : 

"Nc  1  contemptible  as  you  think  me,  beggarly  and  wretched 
as  yon  please  to  term  me,  I  have  too  much  self-respect  to  stay  i 
day  longer,  where  I  have  been  so  grossly,  so  needless'y  insulted. 
You  need  not  seek  to  detain  me.  Take  your  hand  off  my  arm  ; 
[  am  going  now  ;  the  sooner,  the  better.  I  understand,  madam, 
your  brother  will  not  countenance  your  cruelty,  and  you  are 
ashamed  for  hirn  to  know  what,  in  his  absence,  you  were  not 
ashamed  to  do.  I  scorn  to  retaliate  1  He  shall  not  learn  from  I 
me  why  I  left  so  suddenly.  Tell  him  what  you  choose." 

Mrs.  Chilton  was  very  pale,  and  her  lips  were  compressed  till 
they  grew  purple.  Clinching  her  hand,  she  said  under  her 
breath  : 

"  You  artful  little  wretch.  Am  I  to  be  thwarted  by  such  9 
mere  child  ?  You  shall  not  quit  the  house.  Go  to  your  room, 
and  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself.  In  future  I  shall  not  concern 
myself  about  you,  if  you  take  root  at  the  front  door.  Go  in,  and 
let  matters  stand.  I  promise  you  I  will  not  interfere  agaiu,  no 
matter  what  you  do.  Do  you  hear  me  ?" 

"  No.  You  have  neither  the  power  to  detain,  ncr  to  expel 
me.  I  shall  leave  here  immediately,  and  you  need  not  attempt 
to  coerce  me  ;  for,  if  you  do,  I  will  acquaint  Doctor  Hartwell 
with  the  whole  affair,  as  soon  as  he  comes,  or  when  I  see  h;m.  I 
am  going  for  my  clothes  ;  not  those  you  so  reluctantly  had  made, 
but  the  old  garments  I  wore  when  I  worked  for  my  bread.'' 
She  shook  off  the  detaining  hand,  and  went  up  to  her  room 
Harriet  had  already  lighted  her  lamp,  and  as  she  entered  the 
dDor,  the  rays  fell  brightly  on  the  picture  she  had  learned  to  !ov< 
BO  well.  Now  she  looked  at  it  through  scalding  tears,  and,  tc  ' 
her  excited  fancy,  the  smile  seemed  to  have  faded  from  the  lips 
of  Hope,  and  the  valley  looked  more  dreary,  and  the  pilgrim! 
uore  desulate  and  miserable.  She  turned  from  it,  and  taking  rff 
Uitt  clothes  she  wore,  dressed  herself  in  the  humble  apparel  jf 


kll)  B  E  U  L  A  11  , 

informer  days.  The  old  trunk  was  scarcely  worth  keeping,  sav« 
as  a  relic  ;  and  folding  up  the  clothes  and  btfoks  into  as  small  a 
bundle  as  possible,  she  took  it  in  her  arms,  and  descended  the 
steps.  She  wished  very  much  to  tell  Harriet  good  bye,  and 
thank  her  for  her  unvarying  kindness  ;  and  now,  on  the  eve  of 
her  departure,  she  remembered  the  words  whispered  during  luT 
illness,  and  the  offer  of  assistance  when  she  "  got  into  trouble, 
as  Harriet  phrased  it  ;  but  dreading  to  meet  Mrs.  Chilton  again, 
she  hurried  down  the  hall,  and  left  the  house.  The  friendly  stars 
looked  kindly  down  upon  the  orphan,  as  she  crossed  the  common, 
And  proceeded  toward  the  Asylum,  and  raising  her  eyes  to  the 
lewelled  dome,  the  solemn  beauty  of  the  night  hushed  the  wild 
'urnult  in  her  heart,  and  she  seemed  to  hear  the  words  pro 

Ixmnced  from  the  skyey  depths  :  "  Lo,  I  am  with  you  always, 
•Ten  unto  Ike  end."  Gradually,  the  results  of  the  step  she  had 
takeu  obtruded  themselves  before  her,  and  with  a  keen  pang  of 
pain  and  grief,  came  the  thought,  "  what  will  Dr.  Hartwell  think 
•  of  rne  ?"  All  his  kindness  during  the  time  she  had  passed 
beneath  his  roof,  his  genial  tones,  his  soft,  caressing  touch  on  hei 
head,  his  rare,  but  gentle  smile,  his  constant  care  for  her  comfor* 
and  happiness,  all  rushed  like  lightning  over  her  mind,  and  inude 
the  hot  tears  gush  over  her  face.  Mrs.  Chilton  would,  of  course, 
offer  him  some  plausible  solution  of  her  sudden  departure.  IJe 
would  think  her  ungrateful,  and  grow  indifferent  to  her  welfare 
or  fate.  Yet  hope  whispered,  "  he  will  suspect  the  truth  ;  he 
must  know  his  sister's  nature  ;  he  will  not  blame  me."  But  all 
this  was  in  the  cloudy  realm  of  conjecture,  and  the  stern  realities 
of  ltd'  position  weighed  heavily  on  her  heart.  Through  l)i 
Hi«itwel!,  who  called  to  explain  her  sudden  disappearance,  Mrs 
Mdj-tin  had  sent  her  the  eighteen  dollars  due  for  three  1:10;  tii3 
fc'fvice,  and  this  little  sum  was  all  that  she  possessed.  As  she 
walked  on,  pondering  the  many  difficulties  wl  ich  attended  the 
darling  project  of  educating  herself  thoroughly,  the  lights  of  the 
Asylum  greeted  her,  and  it  was  with  a  painful  sense  of  desolation 
ihat  she  mounted  the  steps,  -aud  stocd  upon  the  threshold,  wher* 


BEULAH.  Lit 

«he  *r.J  Lilly  haJ  so  often  sat,  in  years  gone  by.  Mrs.  William? 
ciet  her  at  the  door,  wondering  what  unusual  occurrence  induced 
e.  visitor  at  this  unseasonable  hour.  The  hall  lamp  shone  on  her 
tiud,  but  anxious  face,  and  as  Beulah  looked  at  her,  remembcrr d 
care  and  love  caused  a  feeling  of  suffocation,  and  with  an  excla 
mation  of  joy,  she  threw  her  arms  around  her.  Astonished  at 
greeting  so  unexpected,  the  matron  glanced  hurriedly  at  the  face 
pressed  against  her  bosom,  and  recognizing  her  quondam  charge, 
fol  Jed  her  tenderly  to  her  heart. 

"  Beulah,  dear  child,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  !"  As  she  kissed 
her  white  cheeks,  Beulah  felt  the  tears  dropping  down  upon 
them. 

"  Come  into  my  room,  dear,  and  take  off  your  bonnet."  She 
led  her  to  the  quiet  little  room,  and  took  the  bundle,  and  the 
antiquated  bonnet,  which  Pauline  declared  "  Mrs.  Noah  had 
Tvcrn  all  through  the  forty  days'  shower." 

"  Mrs.  Williams,  can  I  stay  here  with  you  until  I  can  get  a 
place  somewhere  ?  The  managers  will  not  object,  will  they  ?" 

"  No,  dear,  I  suppose  not.  But,  Beulah,  I  thought  you  had 
I>een  adopted,  just  after  Lilly  died,  by  Doctor  Hartwell  ?  Here 
[.have  been,  ever  since  I  heard  it  from  some  of  the  managers, 
thinking  how  lucky  it  was  for  you,  and  feeling  so  thankful  to 
God,  for  remembering  his  orphans.  Child,  what  has  happened  ? 
Tell  me  freely,  Beulah." 

With  her  head  on  the  matron's  shoulder,  she  imparted  enough 
of  what  had  transpired  to  explain  her  leaving  her  adopted  home. 
Mrs.  Williams  shook  her  head,  and  said,  sadly  : 

"You  have  been  too  hasty,  child.     It  was  Doctor  Hart  cell's 
house ;    he  had  taken  you  to  it,  and  without  consulting;  and 
telling  him,  you  should  not  have  left  it.     If  you  felt  that  yon 
could  not  live  there  in  peace,  with  his  sister,  it  was  your  duty  to 
have  told  him  so,  and  then  decided  as  to  what  course  you  would 
take.     Don't  be  hurt,  child,  if  I  tell  you  you  are  too  proud.  ( 
Poverty  and  pride  make  a  bitter  lot  in  this  world  ;  and  take  care  ' 
7041  don't  let  your  high  spirit  ruin  your  prospects      I  dor-'t 


112  BEULAH. 

io  say,  dear,  that  you  ought  to  bear  insult  and  oppression,  bcit 
I  do  thiuk  you  owed  it  to  the  doctor's  kindness,  to  Lave  waited 
until  his  return,  before  you  quitted  his  house." 

"  Oh,  you  do  not  know  him  I  If  he  knew  all  that  Mrs, 
Chilton  said  and  did,  he  would  turn  her  and  Pauline  out, of  the 
Louse  immediately.  They  are  poor,  and,  bitf,  for  him,  couid  net 
live  without  toil.  I  have  no  right  to  cause  their  ruin.  She  ia 
his  sister,  and  has  a  claim  on  him.  I  have  none.  She  expects 
Pauline  to  inherit  his  fortune,  and  could  not  bear  to  think  of  his 
adopting  me.  1  don't  wonder  at  that  so  much.  But  she  need 
uot  have  been  so  cruel,  so  insulting.  I  don't  want  his  money,  or 
his  house,  or  his  elegant  furniture.  I  only  want  an  education 
and  his  advice,  and  his  kind  care  for  a  few  years.  I  like  Pauline 
very  much  indeed.  She  never  treated  me  at  all  unkindly  ;  and 
I  could  not  bear  to  bring  misfortune  ou  her,  she  is  so  happy." 

"  That  is  neither  here  nor  there.  He  will  not  hear  the  truth, 
of  course  ;  and  even  if  he  did,  he  will  not  suppose  you  were 
actuated  by  any  such  Christian  motives,  to  shield  his  sister's 
meanness.  You  ought  to  have  seen  him  first." 

"  Well,  it  is  all  over  now,  and  I  see  I  must  help  myself,  l 
want  to  go  to  the  public  school,  where  the  tuition  is  free ;  but 
/low  can  I  support  myself  in  the  meantime  ?  Eighteen  dollars 
would  not  board  me  long,  and,  besides,  I  shall  have  to  bay 
Ciothes."  She  looked  up,  much  perplexed,  in  the  matron's 
anxious  face.  The  latter  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then  said  : 

"  Why,  the  public  school  closes  in  a  few  weeks  ;  the  next 
session  will  not  begin  before  autumn,  and  what  could  you  do 
until  then  ?  No,  I  will  just  inform  Dr.  Hartvvell  of  the  trutb 
f  the  whole  matter.  I  think  it  is  due  him,  and  " 

"Indeed  you  must  not  I  I  promised  Mrs.  Chilton  that  1 
would  not  implicate  her,  and  your  doing  it  would  amount  to  the 
same  thing.  I  would  not  be  the  means  of  driving  Pauline  c~t  of 
her  uncle's  house,  for  all  the  gold  in  California." 

"  Silly  child..  What  on  earth  possessed  you  to  promise  any 
such  thing  ?" 


BEULAH.  113 

"  I  wanted  her  to  see  that  I  was  honest  in  what  I  said  Sh* 
knew  that  I  could,  by  divulging  the  whole  affair,  turn  her  3ut  01 
the  house  (for  Dr.  Hartwell's  disposition  is  a  secret  to  no  one 
whc  has  lived  in  bis  home),  and  I  wished  to  show  her  that  I  tcld 
the  truth,  in  saying  I  only  wanted  to  be  educated  for  a,  teacher." 

'•  Suppose  the  doctor  comes  here,  aud  asks  you  about  the 
'.natter  ?" 

"  I  shall  tell  him  that  I  prefer  not  being  dependent  on  any 
one.  But  he  will  not  come.  He  does  not  know  where  I  am." 
Yflt  the- dread  that  he  would,  filled  her  mind  with  new  anxieties  I 

"  Well,  well,  it  is  no  use  to  fret  over  what  cau't  be  undone 
I  wish  I  could  help  you,  but  I  don't  see  any  chance  just  now." 

"  Could  not  I  get  some  plain  sewing  ?  Perhaps  the  managers 
would  give  me  work  ?" 

"  Ah,  Bculah,  it  would  soon  kill  you,  to  have  to  sew  for  your 
living." 

"  No,  no,  I  can  bear  more  than  you  think,"  answered  the  girl, 
with  a  dreary  smile. 

"  Yes,  your  spirit  can  endure  more  than  your  body.  Tout 
father  died  with  consumption,  child  ;  but  don't  fret  about  it  any 
more  to  night.  Come,  get  some  supper,  and  then  go  to  sleep. 
You  will  stay  in  my  room,  with  me,  dear,  till  something  can  be 
done  to  assist  you." 

"  Mrs.  Williams,  you  must  promise  me  that  you  never  will 
speak  of  what  I  have  told  you,  regarding  that  conversation  with 
Mrs.  Chiltou." 

"  I  promise  you,  dear,  I  never  will  mention  it,  since  you  prefer 
seeping  the  matter  secret." 

"  What  will  Dr.  Ilartwell  think  of  me  ?"  was  the  recurring 
hought,  that  would  not  be  banished;  and,  unable  to  sleep,  Beulal 
ussed  restlessly  on  her  pillow  all  night,  dreading  lest  he  should :: 
her  for  her  seeming  ingratitude. 


I**  BELLA  11. 


CHAPTER    XI 

FOB  perhaps  two  hours  after  Beulah's  departure,  Mrs  Ohilto?, 
Pandered  up  and  down  the  parlors,  revolving  numerous  scheme?, 
explanatory  of  her  unexpected  exodus.  Completely  nonplused, 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  sincerely  rued  the  expression  of 
dislike  and  contempt  which  had  driven  the  orphan  from  her 
adopted  home  ;  and,  unable  to  decide  on  the  most  plausible 
solution  to  be  offered  her  brother,  she  paced,  restlessly,  to  and 
fro.  Engrossed  by  no  particularly  felicitous  reflections,  she  failed 
to  notice  Mazeppa's  quick  tramp,  and  remained  in  ignorance  of 
the  doctor's  return,  until  he  entered  the  room,  arid  stood  beside 
her.  His  manner  was  hurried,  his  thoughts  evidently  preoccu- 
pied, as  he  said  : 

"  May,  I  am  going  into  the  country  to  be  absent  all  of  to- 
morrow, and  possibly  longer.  There  is  some  surgical  work  to 
be  performed  for  a  careless  hunter,  and  I  must  start  immediately, 
I  want  you  to  see  that  a  room  is  prepared  for  Percy  Lockhart. 
He  is  very  feeble,  and  I  have  invited  him  to  come  and  stay  with 
me  while  he  is  in  the  city.  He  rode  out  this  evening,  and  is 
worse  from  the  fatigue.  I  shall  expect  you  to  see  that  every- 
thing is  provided  for  him  that  an  invalid  could  desire.  Can  I 
depend  upon  you  ?" 

"  Certainly  ;  I  will  exert  myself  to  render  his  stay  hero 
pleasant  ;  make  yourself  easy  on  that  score."  It  was  very  evi- 
dent that  the  cloud  was  rapidly  lifting  from  her  heart  and 
prospects  ;  but  she  veiled  the  sparkle  in  her  eye,  and  uususjn- 
JK.US  of  anything  amiss  her  brother  left  the  room.  Walking  uj? 
to  one  of  the  mirrors,  whicli  extended  from  floor  to  '•eiliiig,  she 
surveyed  herself  carefully,  and  a  triumphant  smile  parted  hef 
lips. 


BEDLAH.  114 

11  'ere;  Lockhart  is  vulnerable  as  well  as  other  people,  and  1  { 
n«*o  yet  to  see  the  man  whose  heart  will  proudly  withstand  the 
allurements  of  flattery,  provided  the  homage  is  delicately  and 
gracefully  offered.  Thank  heaven !  years  have  touched  me 
lightly,  and  there  was  more  truth  than  she  relished  iu  what 
Julia  Vincent  said  about  my  beauty  !" 

This  sel^complacent  soliloquy  was  cut  short  by  the  appear    ' 
atice  of  her  brother,  who  carried  a  case  of  surgical  instruments 
in  his  hand. 

"  May,  tell  Beulah  I  am  sorry  I  did  not  see  her.  I  would  go 
up  ami  wake  her,  but  have  not  time.  She  wished  to  ask  me 
something.  Tell  her,  if  it  is  anything  of  importance,  to  do  just 
as  she  likes  ;  I  will  see  about  it  when  I  come  home.  Be  sure 
you  tell  her.  Good  night  ;  take  care  of  Percy."  He  turned 
away,  but  she  exclaimed  : 

"  She  is  not  here,  Guy.  She  asked  me  this  evening  if  she 
jnight  spend  the  night  at  the  Asylum.  She  thought  you 
(vould  not  object,  and  certainly  I  had  no  authority  to  prevent 
her.  Indeed  the  parlor  was  full  of  company,  and  I  told  her  sho 
might  go  if  she  wished.  I  suppose  she  will  be  back  early  \v 
the  morning." 

His  face  darkened  instantly,  and  she  felt  that  he  was  search- } 
ing  her  with  his  piercing  eyes. 

"  All  this  sounds  extremely  improbable  to  me.  If  she  is  not 
at  home  again  at  breakfast,  take  the  carriage  and  go  after  her. 
Mind,  May  !  I  will  sift  the  whole  matter  when  I  come  back." 
EG  hurried  ofi'.  and  she  breathed  freely  once  more.  Dr.  Hart- 
well  sprang  into  his  buggy,  to  which  a  fresh  horse  had  been 
attached,  and  dismissing  Hal,  whose  weight  would  only  have 
retarded  his  progress,  he  drove  rapidly  off.  The  gate  had  beer 
left  open  for  him,  and  he  was  passing  through,  when  arrestej 
oy  Harriet's  well-known  voice. 

"  Stop,  master  1     Stop  a  minute  1" 

"  What  do  you  want  ?     I  can't  stop  !"  cried  he  impatientlj 

"  Are  yoa  going  after  that  poor,  motherless  child  ?" 


116  BEULAH. 

"  No.  But  what  the  devil  is  to  pay  here  r  I  shall  get  at  th« 
tmt.li  now.  AVhcre  is  Bculah  ?  talk  fast." 

"She  is  at  the  Asylum  to-night,  sir.  f  followed  aud  washed 
the  poor,  little  thing.  Master,  if  you  don't  listen  to  me,  if  you 
please,  sir,  you  never  will  get  at  the  truth,  for  t'uat  chile  won't 
ull  it.  I  beard  her  promise  Miss  May  she  would  not.  YOB 
would  be  ready  to  fight  if  you  knew  all  I  know." 

."  Why  did  Beulah  leave  here  this  evening  ?" 

"  Because  Miss  May  abused  and  insulted  her  :  told  her  before 
some  ladies  that  she  was  a  "miserable  beggar"  that  you  piekec 
up  at  the  hospital,  and  that  you  thought  it  was  charity  to  feed 
and  clothe  her  till  she  was  big  enough  to  work.  The  ladies  were 
in  the  front  yard,  and  the  child  happened  to  be  sitting  by  the 
fountain  ;  she  had  just  come  from  riding.  I  was  sewing  at  one 
of  the  windows  up-stairs,  sir,  and  heard  every  word.  When  the 
folks  were  gone,  Miss  May  walks  up  to  her  and  asks  her  what 
she  is  doing  where  anybody  could  see  her  ?  Oh,  master  !  ii'  you 
tould  have  seen  that  child's  looks.  She  fairly  seemed  to  ri.se  o9 
her  feet,  and  her  face  was  as  white  as  a  corpse.  She  said  she 
had  wanted  an  education  ;  that  she  knew  you  had  been  very 
kind  ;  but  she  never  dreamed  of  taking  Miss  Pauline's  place  in 
your  house.  She  said  she  would  not  stay  where  she  was  unwel 
come  ;  that  she  was  not  starving  when  you  took  her  home  ;  that 
Bhe  knew  you  were  kind  and  good  ;  but  that  she  scorned — them 
were  the  very  words,  master — she  scorned  to  stay  a  day  longer 
where  she  had  been  so  insulted  !  Oh,  she  was  in  a  towering 
rage  ;  she  trembled  all  over,  and  ML-s  May  began  to  be  scared, 
for  she  knew  you  would  not  suffer  such  doings,  and  she  tried  to 
p:icify  her  aud  make  up  the  quarrel  by  telling  her  she  might 
Elay  and  have  an  education,  if  that  was  all  she  wanted.  But 
the  girl  would  not  hear  to  anything  she  said,  and  told  her  sh? 
need  not  be  frightened,  that  she  wouldn't  go  to  you  with  thy 
fuss  ;  she  would  not  tell  you  why  she  left  your  house.  She  wciu 
to  her  room  and  she  got  every  rag  of  her  old  clothes,  and  lef- 
the  house  with  the  tears  raining  out  of  her  eyes.  Oh;  master 


BEULAH.  117 

it's  a  crying  shame  I     If  you  had  only  been  here  to  hear  that 
child  talk  to  Miss  May.     Good  Lord      how  her  big  eyes  did  j 
biaze  when  she  told  her  she  could  earu  a  living  !" 

By  the  pale  moonlight  she  could  see  that  her  master's  faca 
waa  rigid  as  steel  ;  but  his  voice  was  even  calmer  than  usual 
wh,3£  he  asked  : 

"  Are  you  sure  she  is  now  at  the  Asylum  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  sure." 

"  Very  well  ;  she  is  safe  then  for  the  present.  Does  any  on« 
know  that  you  heard  the  conversation?" 

"  Not  a  soul,  sir,  except  yourself." 

"  Keep  the  matter  perfectly  quiet  till  I  come  home.  I  shall 
be  away  a  day,  or  perhaps  longer;  meantime,  sec  that  Beulah 
does  not  get  out  of  your  sight.  Do  you  understand  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir — I  do." 

The  buggy  roiled  swiftly  on,  and  Harriet  returned  to  the 
house  by  a  circuitous  route,  surmising  that  "  Miss  May's  "  eyes 
might  detect  her  movements. 

The  same  night,  Clara  Sanders  sat  on  the  door-step  of  her 
humble  cottage  home.  The  moonlight  crept  through  tht  clus- 
tering honeysuckle  and  silvered  the  piazza  floor  with  grotesque 
fret-work,  while  it  bathed  lovingly  the  sad  face  of  the  girlish 
watcher.  Her  chin  rested  in  her  palms,  and  the  soft  eyes  were 
bent  anxiously  ou  the  countenance  of  her  iufirrn  and  aged 
companion. 

"  Grand-pa,  don't  look  so  troubled.  I  am  very  sorry,  too, 
about  the  diploma  :  but  if  I  am  not  to  have  it,  why,  there  is  no 
use  iu  worrying  about  it.  Madam  St.  Cymou  is  willing  to 
employ  me  as  I  am,  and  certainly  I  should  feel  grateful  for  her 
preference,  when  there  are  several  applicants  for  the  place.  She 
told  me  this  evening  that  she  thought  I  would  find  no  difficulty 
in  performing  what  would  be  required  of  me." 

Tliis  was  uttered  iu  a  cheerful  tone,  which  might  have  suj 
ce«ded  very  wejl,  had  'he  sorrowful  faie  been  veiled. 


ib  BKULAH, 

"  Ah,  Clara,  you  don't  dream  Df  the  burden  you  are  Uk.li.ji 
upon  yourself !  The  position  of  assistant  teacl  cr,  in  an  estab- 
lishment like  Madam  St.  Cymoii's,  is  one  that  you  are  by  nature 
totally  unfitted  for.  Child,  it  will  gall  your  spirit  ;  it  will  te 
unendurable."  The  old  man  sighed  heavily. 

"  Still,  T  have  been  educated  with  an  eye  to  teaching,  n:itl 
though  I  am  now  to  occupy  a  very  subordinate  place,  the  trials 
will  not  be  augmented.  On  the  whole,  I  do  not  know  but  it  is 
best  as  it  is.  Do  not  try  to  discourage  me.  It  is  all  I  can  do, 
and  I  am  determined  I  will  not  despond-  about  what  can't  be 
helped." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  did  not  mean  to  depress  you.  But  you  are 
so  young  to  bow  your  neck  to  such  a  yoke  !  How  old  arc  you  ?" 
He  turned  round  to  look  at  her. 

"  Only  sixteen  and  a  few  months.  Life  is  before  me  yet,  an 
untrodden  plain.  Who  knows  but  this  narrow  path  of  duty 
may  lead  to  a  calm,  sweet  resting-place  for  us  both  ?  I  was 
thinking  just  now  of  that  passage  from  your  favorite  Wallen- 
stein  :  'My  soul's  secure!  In  the  night  only,  Fricdland's  stars  can 
beam.1  The  darkness  has  come  down  upon  us,  grand-pa;  let  ua 
wait  patiently  for  the  uprising  of  stars.  I  am  not  afraid  of  the 
night." 

There  was  silence  for  some  moments  ;  then  the  old  man  rose, 
and,  putting  back  the  white  locks  which  had  fallen  over  his  face, 
asked,  in  a  subdued  tone  : 

"  When  will  you  commence  your  work  ?" 

"  To-morrow,  sir." 

"  God  bless  you,  Clara,  and  give  you  strength,  as  he  sec.?  you 
have  need."  He  kissed  her  fondly,  and  withdrew  to  hid  o  vis 
roora.  She  sat  for  some  time  looking  vacantly  at  the  mosaic  of 
Sight  and  shade  on  the  floor  before  her,  and  striving  to  diveet 
her  mind  of  the  haunting  thought  that  she  was  the  victim  of 
gome  unyielding  necessity,  whose  decree  had  gor.e  forth,  and 
might  not  be  annulled.  In  early  childhood  her  home  haJ  bceu 
SMC  of  splendid  affluence  ;  but  reverses  came,  thick  and  last,  tu> 


BEULAH.  119 

misfortunes  ever  do,  and,  ere  she  conld  realize  the  swift  transi 
lion,  penury  claimed  her  family  among  its  crowding  legions 
Discouraged  and  embittered,  her  father  made  the  \\ine-2up  tha 
sepulchre  of  care,  and  in  a  few  months  found  a  deeper  and  fur 
more  quiet  grave.  His  mercantile  embarrassments  had  dragged 
bis  father-in-law  to  ruin  ;  and,  too  aged  to  toil  up  the  steep 
again,  the  latter  resigned  himself  to  spending  the  remainder  of 
his  days  in  obscurity,  and  perhaps  want.  To  Clara's  gifted 
mother,  he  looked  for  aid  and  comfort  in  the  clouded  evening 
of  life,  and  with  unceasing  energy  she  toiled  to  shield  her  father 
>  and  her  child  from  actual  labor.  Thoroughly  acquainted  with 
music  and  drawing,  her  days  were  spent  in  giving  lessons  in 
those  branches  which  had  been  acquired  with  "reference  to 
personal  enjoyment  alone,  and  the  silent  hours  of  the  night  often 
passed  in  stitching  the  garments  of  those  who  had  flocked  to 
her  costly  entertainments  in  days  gone  by.  When  Clara  was 
about  thirteen  years  of  age,  a  distant  relative  chancing  to  see  hex, 
kindly  proposed  to  contribute  the  sum  requisite  for  affording  her 
every  educational  advantage.  The  offer  was  gratefully  accepted 
by  the  devoted  mother,  and  Clara  was  placed  at  Madam  St 
Cyrnou's,  where  more  than  ordinary  attention  could  be  bestowed 
on  the  languages. 

The  noble  woman,  whose  heart  had  bled  incessantly  over  tha 
misery,  ruin,  and  degradation  of  her  husband,  sank  slowly  under 
the  intolerable  burden  of  sorrows,  and  a  few  weeks  previous  to 
the  evening  of  which  I  write,  folded  her  weary  hands  and  vent 
home  to  rest.  In  the  springtime  of  girlhood,  Clara  felt  henelff 
transformed  into  a  woman.  Standing  beside  her  mother's  tcmb,| 
Supporting  her  grandfather's  tottering  form,  she  shuddered  in 
nticipatiug  the  dreary  future  that  beckoned  her  on  ;  and  now 
as  if  there  were  not  troubles  enough  already  to  disquiet  her, 
the  annual  amount  advanced  toward  her  school  expense 4  wai 
suddenly  withdrawn.  The  cousin,  residing  in  a  distant  Utate, 
wrote  that  pecuniary  troubles  had  assailed  him,  and  prev.-ute-d 
*11  further  assistance.  Iii  one  more  year  she  would  la»« 


T20  BEULAH. 

finished  the  prescribed  course  and  graduated  honorably  ;  and 
more;  than  all,  she  would  have  obtained  a  diploma,  which  n,i;j;ht 
have  been  an  "  open  sesame"  to  any  post  she  aspired  to.  Thug 
frustrated  in  her  plans,  she  gladly  accepted  the  position  ol 
assistant  teacher  in  the  primary  department,  which,  having 
become  vacant  by  the  dismissal  of  the  incumbent,  madam  kindly 
tendered  her.  The  salary  was  limited,  of  course,  but  nothing 
else  presented  itself,  and  quitting  the  desk,  where  she  had  so 
often  pored  over  her  text-books,  she  prepared  to  grapple  with 
the  trials  which  thickly  beset  the  path  of  a  young  woman 
thrown  upon  her  own  resources  for  maintenance.  Clara  was 
naturally  amiable,  unselfish,  and  trusting.  She  was  no  intel- 
lectual prodigy,  yet  her  mind  was  clear  and  forcible,  her  judg- 
ment matured,  and,  above  all,  her  pure  heart  warm  and  loving, 
f  Notwithstanding  the  stern  realities  that  marked  her  path,  there 
was  a  vein  of  romance  in  her  nature  which,  unfortunately, 
'•  attained  more  than  healthful  development,  and  while  it  often 
bore  her  into  the  Utopian  realms  of  fancy,  it  was  still  impotent 
to  modify,  in  any  degree,  the  social  difficulties  with  which  she 
was  forced  to  contend.  Ah,  there  is  a  touching  beauty  in  the 
radiant  up-look  of  a  girl  just  crossing  the  limits  of  youth,  and 
commencing  her  journey  through  the  chequered  sphere  of 
womanhood  1  It  is  all  dew-sparkle  and  morning  glory  to  her 
ardent,  buoyant  spirit,  as  she  presses  forward  exulting  in  blissful 
anticipations.  But  the  withering  heat  of  the  conflict  of  life 
creeps  on;  the  dewdrops  exhale,  the  garlands  of  hope,  shattered 
-  and  dead,  strew  the  path,  and  too  often,  ere  noontide,  the  clear 
brow  and  sweet  smile  arc  exchanged  for  the  weary  look  of  one 
bnging  for  the  evening  rest,  the  twilight,  the  uight.  Oh,  may 
the  good  God  give  his  sleep  early  unto  these  many  1 

There  was  a  dawning  light  in  Clara's  eyes,  which  showed  that, 
though  as  yet  a  mere  girl  in  years,  she  had  waked  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  emotions  which  belong  to  womanhood.  She  was 
pretty,  and  of  course  she  knew  it,  for  I  am  skeptical  of  thorn 
characters  who  grow  up  to  mature  beauty  all  unsuspicious  of 


B  K  U  L  A  H  .  191 

the  fatal  dower,  and  are  some  day  startled  by  a  discovery  of 
their  possessions.  She  knew,  too,  that  female  loveliness  was  an  ! 
all-potent  spell,  and  depressing  as  were  the  circumstances  of  her 
life  and  situation,  she  felt  that  a  brighter  lot  might  be  hers, 
without  any  vary  remarkable  or  seemingly  inconsistent  course 
of  events 


CHAPTER    XII. 

"  HARRIET,  bring  me  a  cup  of  strong  coffee." 

Dr.  Hartwell  had  returned  late  in  the  afternoon  of  tho 
second  day,  and  travel-worn  and  weary,  threw  himself  down  on 
the  sofa  in  his  study.  There  was  a  pale  severity  in  his  face, 
which  told  that  his  reflections  during  his  brief  absence  had 
been  far  from  pleasant,  and  as  he  swept  back  the  hair  from  his 
forehead,  and  laid  his  head  on  the  cushion,  the  whole  counte- 
nance bespoke  the  bitterness  of  a  proud,  but  miserable  man.  He 
remained  for  some  time,  with  closed  eyes,  and  when  the  coffee 
was  served,  drank  it  without  comment.  Harriet  busied  herself 
about  the  room,  doing*  various  unnecessary  things,  and  wonder- 
ing why  her  master  did  not  inquire  concerning  home  affairs  ; 
2nally,  having  exhausted  every  pretext  for  lingering,  she 
coughed  very  spasmodically  once  or  twice,  and  putting  her  hand 
on  the  knob  of  the  door,  said  deferentially — 

"  Do  you  want  anything  else,  sir  ?  The  bath  room  is  all 
ready." 

"Has  my  sister  been  to  the  Asylum ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Go  and  arrange  Beulah's  room." 

She  retired;  and  springing  up,  he  paced  the  floor,  striving  to 
Master  the  emotion,  which  so  unwontedly  agitated  him.  His 
lips  writhed,  and  the  thin  nostril  expanded,  bat  he  paused  before 


122  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

the  melodeon,  sat  down  and  played  several  pieces,  and  gradual!} 
the  swollen  veins  on  his  brow  lost  their  corded  appearance,  and 
the  mouth  resumed  its  habitual  compression.  Then,  with  an 
exterior,  as  calm  as  the  repose  of  death,  he  took  his  hat,  and  weut 
toward  the  parlor.  Mr.  Lockhart  was  reclining  on  one  of  tho 
sofas,  Pauline  sat  on  aa  ottoman  near  him,  looking  over  a  book 
of  prints,  and  Mrs.  Chilton,  tastefully  attired,  occupied  the  pian3- 
stool.  Witching  strains  of  music  greeted  her  brother,  as  he 
stopped  at  the  door  and  looked  iu.  In  the  mirror  opposite,  sho 
aaw  his  image  reflected,  and  for  an  instant  her  heart  beat 
rapidly,  but  the  delicate  fingers  flew  over  the  keys  as  skillfully 
as  before,  and  only  the  firm  setting  of  the  teeth  betokened  the 
coming  struggle.  lie  entered,  and  walking  up  to  the  invalid, 
said  cordially. 

"How  are  you,  Percy?  better,  I  hope."  While  one  hand 
clasped  his  friend's,  the  other  was  laid  with  brotherly  frecdon 
on  the  sick  man's  head. 

"  Of  course  I  am.  There  was  no  malady  in  Eden,  was  there  1 
Verily,  Guy,  in  your  delightful  home,  I  am  growing  well  again." 

"Ah  1  so  much  for  iiot  possessing  IthuriePs  spear.  I  am 
glad  to  find  you  free  from  fever." 

"  Howd'y-do,  uncle  1  Don't  you  see  me  ?"  said  Pauline, 
reaching  up  her  hand. 

"It  is  always  hard  to  find  you,  Pauline,  you  are  such  a 
demure,  silent  little  body,"  said  he,  shaking  her  hand  kindly. 

"  Welcome,  Guy  1  I  expected  you  yesterday  ;  what  detained 
you  so  long  ?"  Mrs.  Chilton  approached  with  outstretched 
hand,  and  at  the  same  time  offered  her  lips  for  a  kiss. 

He  availed  himself  of  neither,  but  fixing  his  eyes  intently  on 
l«ers,  said  as  sweetly  as  if  he  had  been  soothing  a  fretful  child  : 

"  Necessity  of  course;  but  now  that  I  have  come,  I  sh;\L 
make  amends,  I  promise  you,  for  the  delay.  Percy,  has  she 
taken  good  care  of  you  ?" 

''  She  is  an  admirable  nurse;  I  can  never  requite  the  debt  s*m 
bag  imposed.  Is  not  my  convalescence  sufficient  proof  of  ha? 


BEULAH.  12S 

rapcrior  skill  ?"  Mr.  Lockhart  raised  himself,  and  leaning  on 
his  elbow,  suffered  his  eyes  to  rest  admiringly  on  the  graceful 
form  and  faultless  features  beside  him. 

"  Are  you  really  so  much  better  ?"  said  Dr.  Uartwcll,  gnaw 
ing  his  lip. 

"  Indeed  I  am  I  "Why  are  you  so  incredulous  ?  Have  yoo 
so  little  confldence  in  your  own  prescriptions  ?" 

"  Confidence  I  I  had  little  enough  when  given,  immeasurably 
less  now.  But  we  will  talk  of  all  this  after  a  little.  I  have 
some  matters  to  arrange,  and  will  be  with  you  at  tea.  May,  I 
wish  to  see  you." 

"  Well,  Guy,  what  is  it  1"  without  moving  an  inch,  sh« 
looked  up  at  him. 

"  Come  to  ruj  study,"  answered  her  brother,  quietly. 

"And  leave  your  patient  to  amuse  himself?  Really,  Guy, 
yon  exercise  the  rites  of  hospitality  so  rarely,  that  you  forget 
tli3  ordinary  requirements.  Apropos,  your  little  protegee  has 
not  returned.  It  seems  she  did  not  fancy  -living  here,  and  pre- 
fers staying  at  the  Asylum.  I  would  not  trouble  myself  about 
her,  if  I  were  you.  Some  people  cannot  appreciate  kindness, 
you  know."  She  uttered  this  piece  of  counsel,  with  perfect  sang- 
froid,  and  met  her  brother's  eye  as  innocently  as  Pauline  woulo 
have  done. 

"  I  am  thoroughly  acquainted  with  her  objections  to  this  plaor, 
and  determined  to  remove  them  so  completely,  that  she  cannot 
refuse  to  return." 

A  grey  pallor  crept  over  his  sister's  face,  but  she  replied  witi 
her  usual  equanimity. 

''You  have  seen  her,  then?  I  thought  you  had  hurried  back 
to  ;.  our  sick  friend  here,  without  pausing  by  the  way." 

"  No  1  I  have  not  seer  her,  and  you  are  aware,  her  volnn- 
tary  promise  would  seal  her  lips,  even  if  I  had."  He  smiled 
contemptuously,  as  he  saw  her  puzzled  look,  and  continued : 
"  Percy  will  excuse  you  for  a  few  moments,  come  with  m«\ 
Pauline  entertain  this  gentleman  iu  our  absence," 


124  BEIDLAfl. 

She  took  his  offered  arm,  and  they  proceeded  tc  the  stuay  IB 
fiilence. 

"  Sit  down."  Dr.  Ilartwell  pushed  a  chair  toward  her  and 
stood  looking  her  fully  in  the  face.  She  did  not  shrink,  and 
%sked  unconcernedly  : 

"  Well,  Guy,  to  what  does  all  this  preamble  lead  ?" 

"  May,  is  the  doctrine  of  future  punishments  laid  down  as 
orthodox  in  that  elegantly  gilded  prayer-book  you  take  wuh 
you  in  your  weekly  pilgrimages  to  church  ?" 

"  Coiae,  come,  Guy  ;  if  you  have  no  respect  for  religion, 
yourself,  don't  scoff  at  its  observances  in  my  presence.  It  is 
fei'j  unkind,  and  I  will  not  allow  it."  She  rose,  with  an  air  of 
offended  (iignity. 

"  Scoff  I  you  wrong  me.  Why,  verily,  your  religion  is  too 
formidable  to  suffer  the  thought.  I  tell  you,  sister  mine,  jv.ur 
creed  is  a  \errible  one  in  my  eyes."  He  looked  at  her,  with  a 
Eniile  of  withering  scorn. 

She  grew  restless  under  his  impaling  gaze,  and  he  continued 
mockingly  : 

"  From  such  creeds  !  such  practice  1  Good  Lord  deliver  us  !" 

She  turned  to  go,  but  his  hand  fell  heavily  on  her  shoulder. 

"  I  am  acquainted  with  all  that  passed  between  Beulah  and 
yourself  the  evening  she  left  my  house.  I  was  cognizant  of  the 
whole  truth  before  I  left  the  city." 

"  Artful  wretch  !  She  is  as  false  as  contemptible  1"  muttered 
the  Bister,  through  set  teeth. 

"  Take  care  1  do  not  too  hastily  apply  your  own  individual 
Standard  of  action  to  others.  She  does  not  dream  that  I  am 
acquainted  with  the  truth,  though  doubtless  she  wonders  that, 
knowing  you  so  well,  I  should  not  suspect  it." 

"Ah,  guided  by  your  favorite  Mephistopheles,  you  wrapped 
the  mantle  of  invisibility  about  you,  and  heard  it  all.  Eli  ?" 

"No;  Mephistopheles  is  not  ubiquitous,  and  I  left  him  at  home 
here,  it  seems,  when  I  took  that  child  to  ride.  It  is  difficult  for 
re  to  believe  you  are  my  sister  !  very  difficult  1  It  is  the  most 


BEULAH.  121 

aumiliuting  thought  that  could  possf.bly  be  suggested  to  me 
May,  I  very  nearly  decided  to  send  you  and  Pauline  out  into  tht 
world  without  a  dime  ! — without  a  cent  I — just  as  I  found  yoo, 
aud  I  may  do  so  yet " 

"  You  dare  not  1  You  dare  not  I  You  swore  a  solemn  oath 
to  the  dying  that  you  would  always  provide  for  us  1  I  am  no* 
afraid  of  your  breaking  your  vow  1"  cried  Mrs.  Chiltou,  leaning 
heavily  against  the  table  to  support  herself. 

"  You  give  me  credit  for  too  much  nicety.  I  tell  you  T  would 
break  my  oath  to-morrow,  nay,  to-night  ;  for  your  duplicity  can- 
cels it,  but  for  that  orphan  you  hate  so  cordially.  She  would 
never  return  if  you  and  Pauline  suffered  for  the  past  ;  for  hei 
p.ake,  and  hers  only,  I  will  still  assist,  support  you,  for  have  her 
here  I  will  1  if  it  cost  me  life  and  fortune  1  I  would  send  you  off 
to  the  plantation,  but  there  are  no  educational  advantages  there 
for  Pauline  ;  and  therefore,  if  Beulah  returns,  1  have  resolved  to 
buy  and  give  you  a  separate  home,  wherever  you  may  prefer 
Stay  here,  you  cannot  and  shall  not  1" 

"  Aud  what  construction  will  the  world  place  on  your  taking 
a  young  girl  into  your  house  at  the  time  that  I  leave  it  ?     Guy,  , 
with   what  marvellous  foresight   you  are  endowed  1"  said  she, 
laughing  sardonically. 

"  1  shall  take  measures  to  prevent  any  improper  construction! 
Mrs.  Watson,  the  widow  of  one  of  my  oldest  aud  best  friends, 
has  been  left  in  destitute  circumstances,  and  I  shall  immediately 
offer  her  a  home  here,  to  take  charge  of  my  household,  and  look 
after  Beulah  when  I  am  absent.  She  is  an  estimable  woman, 
past  fifty  years  of  age,  and  her  character  is  so  irreproachable; 
that  her  presence  here  will  obviate  the  objection  you  have  urged 
You  will  decide  to-night  where  you  wish  to  fix  your  future  resi 
ch'nce,  and  let  me  know  to-morrow.  I  shall  not  give  you  longer 
time  for  a  decision.  Meantime,  when  Beulah  returns  you  will 
not  allude  to  the  matter.  At  your  peril,  May  1  I  have  borne 
much  from  you,  but  by  all  that  I  prize,  I  swear,  I  will  make  you 
suffer  beverely  if  you  dare  to  interfere  again.  Do  not  imagini 


126  BEUi.AH 

that  I  am  ignorant  of  your  schemes  !  I  tell  you  now,  I 
gladly  see  Percy  Lockhart  lowered  into  the  grave,  rather  thus 
knou  that  you  had  succeeded  in  blinding  him  1  Oh,  his  nobis 
nature  would  loathe  you,  could  he  sec  you  as  yon  arc.  There, 
go  !  or  I  shall  forget  that  I  am  talking  to  a  woman  :  much  le;8 
a  woman  claiming  to  bb  my  sister!  Go  !  go  1"  lie  put  up  hi 
bunds  as  if  unwilling  to  look  at  her,  and  leaving  the  room,  de 
scended  to  the  front  door.  A  large  family-carriage,  drawn  by 
two  horses,  stood  in  readiness,  and  seating  himself  within  it,  he 
wdered  the  coachman  to  drive  to  the  Asylum.  Mrs.  Williams 
met  him  at  the  entrance,  and  despite  her  assumed  composure, 
felt  nervous  and  uncomfortable,  for  his  scrutinizing  look  discon- 
certed her. 

"Madam,  you  are  the  matron  of  this  institution,  I  presume. 
[  want  to  see  Bculah  Benton." 

"  Sir,  she  saw  your  carriage,  and  desired  me  to  say  to  you 
that  though  she  was  very  grateful  for  your  kindness,  she  did  not 
wish  to  burden  you,  and  preferred  remaining  here  until  she  could 
find  some  position  which  would  enable  her  to  support  herself. 
She  begs  you  will  not  insist  upon  seeing  her  ;  she  does  not  wish 
to  see  you." 

11  Where  is  she  ?  I  shall  not  leave  the  house  until  I  do  see 
her." 

She  saw  from  his  countenance  'that  it  was  useless  to  contend. 
There  was  an  unbending  look  of  resolve  which  said  plainly,  "  tell 
«ae  where  to  find  her,  or  I  shall  search  for  her  at  once."  Secretly 
pleased  at  the  prospect  of  reconciliation,  the  matron  uo  longer 
hesitated,  and  pointing  to  the  staircase,  said  : 

"  She  is  in  the  first  right-hand  room." 

He  mounted  the  steps,  opened  the  door,  and  entered.  Beula 
was  standing  by  the  window  ;  she  had  recognized  his  step,  and 
knew  that  he  was  in  the  room,  but  felt  as  if  she  would  not  meet 
his  eye  for  the  universe.  Yet  there  was  in  her  heart  an  intense 
longing  to  see  him  again.  During  the  two  past  days  she  had 
missed  hia  kind  manner  and  grave  watchfulness,  and  now,  if  she 


B  E  D  L  A  a  .  12* 

nad  dared  to  yield  to  the  irapnlse  that  prompted,  she  would  havi 
sprung  to  meet  him,  and  caught  his  hand  to  her  lips.  He  ap 
proached,  and  stood  looking  at  the  drooped  face  ;  then  his  soft, 
cool  touch  was  ou  her  head,  and  he  said  iu  his  peculiar  low 
musical  tones  : 

"  Proud  little  spirit,  come  home  and  be  happy." 

She  shook  her  head,  saying  resolutely : 

"  I  cannot :  I  have  no  home.  I  could  not  be  happy  in  yore 
house." 

'You  can  be  in  future.  Beulah,  I  know  the  vthole  truth  of 
this  matter  ;  how  I  discovered  it  is  no  concern  of  yours — you 
have  not  broken  your  promise.  Now  mark  me,  I  make  your 
return  to  my  house  the  condition  of  my  sister's  pardon.  I  am 
not  trifling  !  If  you  persist  in  leaving  me,  I  tell  you  solemnly  1 
will  send  her  and  Pauline  out  into  the  world  to  work  for  their 
daily  bread,  as  you  want  to  do  !  If  you  will  come  back,  I  will 
give  them  a  comfortable  home  of  their  own  wherever  they  may 
prefer  to  live,  and  see  that  they  are  always  well  cared  for.  But 
they  shall  not  remain  in  my  house  whether  you  come  or  not.  I 
am  in  earnest !  Look  at  me  ;  you  know  I  never  say  what  I  do 
not  mean.  I  want  you  to  come  back  ;  I  ask  you  to  come  with 
me  now.  I  am  lonely  ;  my  home  is  dark  and  desolate,  come,  ray 
child,  come  1"  He  held  her  hands  in  his,  and  drew  her  gently 
toward  him.  She  looked  eagerly  into  his  face,  and  as  she  noted 
the  stern  sadness  that  marred  its  noble  beauty,  the  words  of  his 
sister  flashed  upon  her  memory:  He  had  been  married  !  Was  it 
the  loss  of  his  wife  that  had  so  darkened  his  elegant  home  ? — 
That  gave  such  austerity  to  the  comparatively  youthful  face  ? 
She  gazed  into  the  deep  eyes  till  she  grew  dizzy,  and  answered 
indistinctly  : 

"  1  have  no  claim  on  you — will  not  be  the  means  of  parting 
7011  and  your  sister.  You  have  Pauline,  make  her  your 
child," 

"  Henceforth  my  sister  and  myself  are  parted,  whether  you  wili 
it  oj  not,  wlwjther  you  come  back  or  otherwise  Once  for  all,  II 


128  BEULAB. 

yon  would  serve  her,  come,  for  on  this  condition  only  will  I  pro 
?ide  for  her.  Pauline  does  not  suit  me;  you  do.  I  can  maka 
you  a  friend,  in  some  sort  a  companion.  Beulah,  you  want  to 
come  to  me;  I  see  it  in  your  eyes;  but  I  see  too  that  you  want 
conditions;  what  are  they  ?" 

"Will  you  always  treat  Pauline  just  as  kindly  as  if  you  had 
cover  taken  me  to  your  house  ?" 

"  Except  having  a  separate  home,  she  shall  never  know  any 
difference.  I  promise  you  this.  What  else  ?" 

"  Will  you  let  me  go  to  the  public  school  instead  of  Madame 
St.  Cymon's?" 

"Why,  pray?" 

"  Because  the  tuition  is  free." 

"  And  you  are  too  proud  to  accept  any  aid  from  me  ?" 

"No,  sir;  I  want  your  counsd  and  guidance,  and  I  want  tc 
be  with  you  to  show  you  that  I  do  thank  you  for  all  your  good 
ness;  but  I  want  to  cost  you  as  little  as  possible." 

"  You  do  not  expect  to  depend  on  me  always,  then  ?"  said  he, 
smiling  despite  himself. 

"No,  sir;  only  till  I  am  able  to  teach.  It  you  are  willing  to 
do  this,  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  back,  very  glad;  but  not  unless 
you  are."  She  looked  as  firm  as  her  guardian. 

"  Better  stipulate  also  that  you  are  to  wear  nothing  more 
expensive  than  bit  calico."  He  seemed  much  amused. 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  am  not  jesting  at  all.  If  you  will  take  care 
of  me  while  I  am  educating  myself,  I  shall  be  very  grateful  to 
you;  but  I  am  not  going  to  be  adopted." 

"  Very  well.  Then  I  will  try  to  take  care  of  you.  I  havo 
Bigned  your  treaty;  are  you  ready  to  come  home." 

"Yes,  sir;  glad  to  come."  Her  fingers  closed  confidingly 
over  his,  and  they  joined  Mrs.  Williams  in  the  hall  below.  A 
brief  explanation  from  Beulah  sufficed  for  the  rejoicing  matron, 
and  soon  she  was  borne  rapidly  from  the  Asylum.  Dr.  Hartwell 
was  silent  until  they  reached  home,  and  Beulah  was  going  to  he' 
own  room,  when  he  asked,  suddenly: 


BEULAH.  129 

"What  was  it  that  you  wished  to  ask  me  about  the  evening 
)f  the  ride  ?" 

"  That  I  might  go  to  the  public  school.^ 

"  What  put  that  into  your  bead  ?" 

"As  a  dependent  orphan,  I  am  insulted  at  Madame  fcJt 
Gymou's." 

"  By  whom  ?"     His  eyes  flashed. 

"  No  matter  now,  sir." 

"  By  whom  ?  I  ask  you." 

"  Not  by  Pauline,  She  would  s^orn  to  be  guilty  of  anything 
BO  ungenerous." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  answer  my  question,  then  ?" 

"  No,  sir;  do  not  ask  me  to  do  so,  for  I  cannot." 

"  Very  well.  Get  ready  for  tea.  Mr.  Lockhart  is  here.  One 
word  more.  You  need  fear  no  further  interference  from  any  one." 

He  walked  on,  and  glad  to  be  released,  Beulah  hastened  to 
her  own  room,  with  a  strange  feeling  of  joy  on  entering  it  again. 
Harriet  welcomed  her  warmly,  and  without  alluding  to  her 
absence,  assisted  in  braiding  the  heavy  masses  of  hair,  which 
required  arranging.  Half  an  hour  after,  Dr.  Hartwell  knocked 
at  the  door,  and  conducted  her  dowu-stairs.  Mrs.  Chilton  rose 
ind  extended  her  hand,  with  an  amicable  expression  of  counts 
lance,  for  which  Beulah  was  not  prepared.  She  could  not  bring 
aerself  to  accept  the  hand,  but  her  salutation  was  gravely  polite. 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Chilton." 

Mr.  Lockhart  made  room  for  her  on  the  sofa;  and  quietly 
ensconced  in  one  corner,  she  sat  for  some  time  so  engaged  in 
listening  to  the  general  conversation,  that  the  bitter  recollection 
of  by-gone  trials  was  entirely  banished.  Dr.  Hartwell  and  his 
ttend  were  talking  of  Europe,  and  the  latter,  after  recounting 
much  of  interest  in  connection  with  his  former  visits,  said  ear- 
p/?stly: 

"Go  with  me  this  time,  Guy;  one  tour  cannot  have  satiated 
you.  It  will  be  double — nay,  triple  enjoyment,  to  have  you  along. 
it  is,  and  always  has  been,  a  mystery  to  mo,  why  you  should 
fi* 


130  BEULAH. 

persist  in  practising.  You  do  not  need  the  pecuniary  aid;  you: 
income  would  enable  you  to  live  just  as  you  pleased.  N  Life  ii 
shor<  at  best-  why  not  glean  all  of  pleasure  that  travel  affords 
to  a  nature  like  yours  ?  Your  sister  was  just  telling  me  that 
:n  a  few  days,  she  goes  North  to  place  Pauline  at  some  cckv 
>rated  school,  and  without  her,  you  will  be  desolate.  Come 
let's  to  Europe  together;  what  do  you  say  ?" 

Dr.  Hartwell  received  this  intimation  of  his  sister's  plans 
without  the  slightest  token  of  surprise,  and  smiled  sarcastically 
as  he  replied: 

"  Percy,  I  shall  answer  you  in  the  words  of  a  favorite  author 
if  the  day.  He  says  'it  is  for  want  of  self  culture  that  the 
superstition  of  travelling,  whose  idols  are  Italy,  England, 
Egypt,  retains  its  fascination  for  all  educated  Americans.  He 
v\o  travels  to  be  amused,  or  tr  get  somewhat  which  he 
does  not  carry,  travels  away  from  himself,  and  grows  old,  even 
in  youth,  among  old  things.  In  Thebes,  in  Palmyra,  his  will 
*nd  mind  have  become  old  and  dilapidated  as  they.  He  carriea 
ruins  to  ruins.  Travelling  is  a  fool's  paradise.  At  home  I  dream 
that  at  Naples,  at  Rome,  I  can  be  intoxicated  with  beauty,  ana 
«ose  my  sadness.  I  pack  my  trunk,  embark,  and  finally  wake 
ip  in  Naples,  and  there  beside  me,  is  the  stern  fact,  the  sad, 
self,  unrelenting,  identical,  that  I  fled  from.  I  affect  to  be 
intoxicated  with  sights,  and  suggestions,  but  I  am  not.  My 
giant  goes  with  me  wherever  I  go.'  Percy,  I  endeavored  to 
drown  my  giant  in  the  Mediterranean;  to  bury  it  forever  beneath 
the  green  waters  of  Lago  Maggiore;  to  hurl  it  from  solemn,  icy, 
Alpine  heights;  to  dodge  it  in  museums  of  art;  but,  as  Emerson 
says,  it  clung  to  me  with  unerring  allegiance,  and  I  came  home 
And  now,  daily,  and  yearly,  I  repeat  the  hopeless  experiment 
ir  my  round  of  professional  duties.  Yes,  May  and  Pauline  are 
going  away,  but  I  shall  have  Beulah  to  look  after,  and  I  fancy 
time  will  not  drag  its  wheels  through  coming  years.  How  soon 
do  you  think  of  leaving  America?  I  have  some  commissieui 
for  vou  when  you  sta'-t." 


B  B  U  L  A  H  .  1 3i 

*  1  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  go  North  within  a  fortnight,  and 
fter  a  short  visit  to  Newport  or   Saratoga,  sail   for  Havre 
What  do  you  want  from  the  great  storehouse  of  art,  sculpture- 
lud  paintings,  cameos  and  prints  ?" 

"  I  will  furnish  you  with  a  catalogue.  Do  yon  go  through 
Germany,  or  only  flaunt,  butterfly-like,  under  the  sunny  skiei 
I  the  Levant  ?" 

"  I  have,  as  yet,  no  settled  plans  ;  but  probably  before  I 
return,  shall  explore  Egypt,  Syria,  and  Arabia.  Do  you  want 
anything  from,  the  dying  world?  From  Deudera,  Carnac,  or 
that  city  of  rock,  lonely,  silent,  awful  Petra  ?" 

"  Not  I.  The  flavor  of  Sodom  is  too  prevalent.  But  there 
are  a  few  localities  that  I  shall  ask  you  to  sketch  for  me."  Sub- 
sequently, Mr.  Lockhart  requested  Beulah  to  skig  her  forest  song 
for  him  again.  The  blood  surged  quickly  into  her  face,  and,  not 
without  confusion,  she  begged  him  to  excuse  her.  He  insisted, 
and  tried  to  draw  her  from  her  seat,  but,  sinking  further  back 
into  the  corner,  she  assured  him  she  could  not;  she  never  sang, 
except  when  alone.  Dr.  Hartwell  smiled,  and,  looking  at  het 
furiously,  said : 

"  1  never  heard  her  even  attempt  to  sing.  Beulah,  why  will 
/ou  not  try  to  oblige  him?" 

"  Oh,  sir  1  my  songs  are  all  connected  with  sorrows.  I  could 
not  sing  them  now  ;  indeed  I  could  not."  And  as  the  memory 
of  Lilly,  hushed  by  her  lullaby,  rose  vividly  before  her,  she  put 
her  hands  over  her  eyes  and  wept  quietly. 

"  When  you  come  home  from  your  Oriental  jaunt,  she  will  be 
able  to  comply  with  your  request.  Meantime,  Percy,  come  into 
the  study;  I  want  a  cigar  and  game  of  chess." 

Beu'iah  quitted  the  parlor  at  the  same  time,  and  was  mounting 
the  steps,  when  she  heard  Mr.  Lockhart  ask  :  "Guy,  what  art 
you  going  to  do  with  that  solemn-looking  child  ?" 

"  Going  to  try  to  show  her  that  the  world  is  not  altogether 
made  up  of  brutes."     She  heard  no  more,  but  long  after 
laid  her  head  upon  the  pillow,  pondered  on  the  kind  fate  whick 


132  BE  TIL  AH. 

gave  her  so  considerate,  so  generous  a  guardian;  and,  in   tin 
depths  of  her  gratitude,  she  vowed   to  snow   him   that  sh« 
.^reverenced  and  honored  him. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


THREE  years  passed  swiftly,  unmarked  by  any  incidents  of 
interest,  and  one  dreary  night  in  December,  Beulah  sat  in  Dr. 
Hartwell's  study,  wondering  what  detained  him  so  much  later 
than  usual.  The  lamp  stood  on  the  tea-table,  and  the  urn 
awaited  the  master's  return.  The  room,  with  its  books,  statues, 
paintings,  and  melodeon,  was  unaltered,  but  time  had  materially 
changed  the  appearance  of  the  orphan.  She  had  grown  tall, 
and  the  mazarine  blue  merino  dress  fitted  the  slender  form  with 
scrupulous  exactness.  The  luxuriant  black  hair  was  combed 
straight  back  from  the  face,  and  wound  into  a  circular  knot, 
which  covered  the  entire  back  of  the  head,  and  gave  a  classical 
outline  to  the  whole.  The  eyelashes  were  longer  and  darker, 
the  complexion  had  lost  its  sickly  hue,  and  though  there  was  no 
bloon  on  the  cheeks,  they  were  clear  and  white.  I  have  spoken 
before  of  the  singular  conformation  of  the  massive  brow,  and 
now  the  style  in  which  she  wore  her  hair  fully  exposed  the 
outline.  The  large  grey  eyes  had  lost  their  look  of  bitterness, 
but  more  than  ever  they  were  grave,  earnest,  restless,  and 
searching  ;  indexing  a  stormy  soul.  The  whole  countenance 
betokened  that  rare  combination  of  mental  endowments,  that 
habitual  train  of  deep,  concentrated  thought,  mingled  with 
somewhat  of  dark  passion,  which  characterizes  the  eagerly- 
inquiring  rnind  that  struggles  to  lift  itself  far  above  commoo 
utilitarian  themes.  The  placid  element  was  as  wanting  In  her 
physiognomy  as  in  her  character,  and  even  the  line*  of  th» 


BEULAH.  133 

mouth  gave  evidence  of  strength  and  restlessness,  rather  than 
peace.  Before  her  lay  a  book  on  geometry,  and,  engrossed  bj 
study,  she  was  unobservant  of  Dr.  Hartwell's  entrance.  Walk- 
*ng  up  to  the  grate,  he  warmed  his  fiagers,  and  then,  with  hii 
Eands  behind  him,  stood  still  on  the  rug,  regarding  his  protegee 
attentively.  He  looked  precisely  as  he  had  done  more  thaa 
three  years  before,  when  he  waited  at  Mrs.  Martin's,  watching 
little  Johnny  and  his  nurse.  .The  colorless  face  seemed  as  if 
chiselled  out  of  ivory,  and  stern  gravity,  blended  with  bitterness, 
was  enthroned  on  the  lofty,  unfurrowed  brow.  He  looked  at 
he  girl  intently,  as  he  would  have  watched  a  patient  to  whom 
je  had  administered  a  dubious  medicine,  and  felt  some  curiosity 
concerning  the  result. 

"  Beulah,  put  up  your  book  and  make  the  tea,  will  you  ?" 
She   started  up,   and  seating  herself   before  the  urn,  said, 
joyfully  : 

"  Good  evening  !  I  did  not  know  you  had  come  home.  You 
look  cold,  Fir." 

''  Yes,  it  is  deucedly  cold  ;  and,  to  mend  the  matter,  Mazeppa 
must  needs  slip  on  the  ice  in  the  gutter,  and  lame  himself. 
Knew,  too,  I  should  want  him  again  to-night."  He  drew  a 
chair  to  the  table  and  received  his  tea  from  her  hand,  for  it  was 
<>ne  of  his  whims  to  dismiss  Mrs.  Watson  and  the  servants  at ! 
this  meal,  and  have  only  Beulah  present. 

"  Who  is  so  ill  as  to  require  a  second  visit  to-night?" 
She  very  rarely  asked  anything  relative  to  his  professional 
engagements,  but  saw  that  he  was  more  than  usually  inier 
ested. 

"  Why,  that  quiet,  little  Quaker  friend  of  yours,  Clara  San- 
ders, will  probably  lose  her  grandfather  this  time.  He  had  a 
second  paralytic  stroke  to-day,  and  I  doubt  whether  he  survives 
till  morning." 

"  Are  any  of  Clara's  friends  with  her  ?"  asked  Beulah,  quickly, 
"  Some  two  or  three  of  the  neighbors.     Wha;  r«ow  ?"  >ie  con 
linued  as  she  rose  from  the  table. 


134  B  B  U  L  A  H  . 

"I   um  going   to  get  ready  and  go    tfith  you  when   jroi 

return." 

"  Nonsense  !  The  weather  is  too  disagreeable  -  and  besides 
you  can  do  uo  good  ;  the  old  man  is  unconscious.  Don't  thiuJf 
of  it." 

"  But  I  must  think  of  it,  and  what  is  more,  you  must  carry 
nse,  if  you  please.  I  shall  not  mind  the  cold,  and  I  know  Clara 
would  rather  have  me  with  her,  even  though  I  could  render  nc 
assistance.  Will  you  carry  me  ?  I  shall  thank  you  very  much  ?v 
She  stood  on  the  threshold. 

"  And  if  I  will  not  carry  you  ?"  he  answered  qucstioningly. 

"  Then,  sir,  though  sorry  to  disobey  you,  I  shall  be  forced  tc 
walk  there." 

"  So  I  supposed.     You  may  get  ready." 

''Thank  you."  She  hurried  off  to  wrap  up  for  the  ride,  and 
acquaint  Mrs.  Watson  with  the  cause  of  her  temporary  absence 
On  reeutering  the  study  she  found  the  doctor  lying  on  the  sofa, 
With  one  hand  over  his  eyes  ;  without  removing  it  he  tossed  a 
fetter  to  her,  saying  : 

"  There  is  a  letter  from  Heidelberg.  I  had  almost  forgotten 
it.  You  will  have  time  tc  read  it ;  the  buggy  is  not  ready." 
He  moved  his  fingers  slightly,  so  as  to  see  her  distinctly,  whilo 
she  tore  off  the  envelope  and  perused  it.  At  first  she  looked 
pleased  ;  then  the  black  eyebrows  met  over  the  nose,  and  as  she 
refolded  it,  there  was  a  very  decided  curl  in  the  compressed 
upper  lip.  She  put  it  into  her  pocket  without  comment. 

"  Eugene  is  well,  I  suppose  ?"  aaid  the  doctor,  still  shading  bit 
eyes. 

"  Yes,  sir,  quite  well." 

"  Docs  he  seem  to  be  improving  his  advantages  ?" 

"  I  should  judge  not,  from  the  tone  of  this  letter." 
•What  does  it  indicate?" 

"That  he  thinks  of  settling  down  into  mercantile  life  on  hit 
return  ;  as  if  he  needed  to  go  to  Germany  to  learn  to  keep 
book*."  She  spoke  hastily  and  witb  «»uch  chagrin. 


B  E  L  L  A  H  .  132 

"  And  why  not  ?  Germany  is  par  excellence  the  »and  of 
Dook-uiaking,  aud  book-reading  ;  why  not  of  book-keeping  ?" 

"  German  proficiency  is  not  the  question,  sir." 

Dr.  Hartwell  smiled,  and  passing  his  fingers  through  his  haiii 
replied  : 

"You  intend  to  annihilate  that  plebeian  project  of  his 
then  r 

'•  His  own  will  must  govern  him,  sir  ;  over  that  I  have  nc 
power." 

"  Still  you  will  use  your  influence  in  favor  of  a  learned  pro- 
fession  1* 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  I  have  any." 

"  Take  care  your  ambitious  pride  does  not  ruin  you  both  '. 
There  is  the  buggy.  Be  so  good  as  to  give  me  my  fur  gauutleta 
out  of  the  drawer  of  my  desk.  That  will  do,  come." 

The  ride  was  rather  silent.  Beulah  spoke  several  times,  bat 
was  answered  in  a  manner  which  informed  her  that  her  guardian 
was  in  a  gloomy  mood,  and  did  not  choose  to  talk.  He  was  to 
her  as  inexplicable  as  ever.  She  felt  that  the  barrier  which 
divided  them,  instead  of  melting  away  with  long  and  intimate 
acquaintance,  had  strengthened  and  grown  impenetrable.  Kind 
but  taciturn,  she  knew  little  of  his  opinions  on  any  of  the  great 
questions  which  began  to  agitate  her  own  mind.  For  rather 
more  than  three  years  they  had  spent  their  evenings  together  ; 
she  in  studying,  he  in  reading  or  writing.  Of  his  past  life  she 
knew  absolutely  nothing,  for  no  unguarded  allusion  to  it  ever 
escaped  his  lips.  As  long  as  she  had  lived  in  his  house,  he  hacl 
never  mentioned  his  wife's  name,  and  but  for  his  sister's  words 
she  would  have  been  utterly  ignorant  of  his  marriage.  Whethei 
the  omission  was  studied,  or  merely  the  result  of  abstraction,  she 
could  only  surmise.  Once,  wlien  sitting  around  the  fire,  a  piece 
of  crape  fell  upon  the  hearth  from  the  shrouded  portrait.  He 
Btooped  down,  picked  it  up,  and  without  glancing  at  the  picture, 
threw  the  fragment  into  the  grate.  She  longed  to  see  the  covered 
face,  but  dared  not  unfasten  the  sable  folds,  which  bad  grown 


136  BEDLAH. 

rusty  with  age.  Sometimes  she  fancied  her  presence  amiO)«c 
him  ;  but  if  she  absented  herself  at  all  during  the  evening,  hs 
invariably  inquired  the  cause.  He  had  most  scrupulously  avoided 
all  reference  to  matters  of  faith  ;  she  had  endeavored  s(  vera, 
times  to  direct  the  conversation  to  religious  topics,  but  he  adroitly 
eluded  her  efforts,  and  abstained  from  any  such  discussion  ;  and 
though  on  Sabbath  she  generally  accompanied  Mrs.  Watson  to 
church,  he  never  alluded  to  it.  Occasionally,  when  more  than 
ordinarily  fatigued  by  the  labors  of  the  day,  he  had  permitted 
ner  to  read  aloud  to  him  from  some  of  his  favorite  volumes,  and 
these  brief  glimpses  had  given  her  an  intense  longing  to  pursue  f,he 
same  paths  of  investigation.  She  revered  and  admired  him  ;  nay, 
she  loved  him  ;  but  it  was  more  earnest  gratitude  than  genuine 
affection.  Love  casteth  out  fear,  and  most  certainly  she  feared 
him.  She  had  entered  her  seventeenth  year,  and  feeling  that  she 
was  no  longer  a  child,  her  pride  sometimes  rebelled  at  the  calm, 
commanding  manner  he  maintained  toward  her. 

They  found  Clara  kneeling  beside  her  insensible  grandfatntr, 
while  two  or  three  middle-aged  ladies  sat  near  the  hearth,  talking 
in  under  tones.  Beulah  put  her  arms  tenderly  around  her  friend 
ere  she  was  aware  of  her  presence,  and  the  cry  of  blended  woe 
acd  gladness,  with  which  Clara  threw  herself  on  Eeulah's  bosom, 
told  her  how  well-timed  that  presence  was.  Three  years  of 
teaching  and  care  had  worn  the  slight  young  form,  and  given  a 
troubled,  strained,  weary  look  to  the  fair  face.  Thin,  pale,  and 
tearful,  she  clung  to  Beulah,  and  asked,  in  broken  accents,  what 
would  become  of  her  when  the  aged  sleeper  was  no  more 

"  Our  good  God  remains  to  you,  Clara.  I  was  a  shorn  lamb, 
and  he  tempered  the  winds  for  me.  I  was  very  miserable,  but 
fce  did  not  forsake  me." 

Clara  looked  at  the  tall  form  of  the  physician,  and  >'hil&  her 
eyes  rested  upon  him  with  a  opecies  of  fascination,  she  umr 
mured  : 

"Yes,  you  have  been  blessed  indeed!  You  have  him.  H« 
guards  and  cares  for  your  happiness,  but  I,  oh  I  am  alone  1" 


BEULAH  131 

"  You  told  me  he  had  promised  to  be  your  friend.  Resi 
assured  he  will  prove  himself  such,"  answered  Beulah,  wa.ehing 
Clara's  countenance  as  she  spoke. 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  but " She  paused,  and  averted  her  head, 

for  just  then  he  drew  near,  and  said  gravely  : 

"Beulah,  take  Miss  Clara  to  her  own  room,  and  persuade  hei 
to  rest.  I  shall  remain  probably  all  night  ;  at  least  until  somt 
change  takes  place." 

"  Don't  send  me  away,"  pleaded  Clara,  mournfully. 

"  Go,  Beulah,  it  is  for  her  own  good."  She  saw  that  he  was 
anrelenting,  and -complied  without  opposition.  In  the  seclusion 
of  her  room  she  indulged  in  a  passionate  burst  of  grief,  and  think- 
ing it  was  best  thus  vented,  Beulah  paced  up  and  down  the  floor, 
listening  now  to  the  convulsive  sobs,  and  now  to  the  rain  which 
pelted  the  window-panes.  She  was  two  years  younger  than  her 
companion,  yet  felt  that  she  was  immeasurably  stronger.  Often 
during  their  acquaintance,  a  painful  suspicion  had  crossed  her 
mind  ;  as  often  she  had  banished  it,  but  now  it  haunted  her 
with  a  pertinacity  which  she  could  not  subdue.  While  her  feet 
trod  the  chamber  floor,  memory  trod  the  chambers  of  the  past, 
and  gathered  up  every  link  which  could  strengthen  the  chain  of 
evidence.  Gradually  dim  conjecture  became  sad  conviction,  and 
she  was  conscious  of  a  degree  of  pain  and  sorrow  for  which  sho 
could  not  readily  account.  If  Clara  loved  Dr.  Hartwell,  why) 
should  it  grieve  her  ?  Her  step  grew  nervously  rapid,  and  the ' 
eyes  settled  upon  the  carpet  with  a  fixedness  of  which  she  was 
unconscious.  Suppose  he  was  double  her  age,  if  Clara  loved  him 
notwithstanding,  what  business  was  it  of  hers  ?  Besides,  no  one 
would  dream  of  the  actual  disparity  in  years,  for  he  was  a  very 
handsome  man,  and  certainly  did  not  look  more  than  ten  years 
older.  True,  Clara  was  not  very  intellectual,  and  he  was  parti 
cularly  fond  of  literary  pursuits  ;  but  had  net  she  heard  him  saj 
that  it  was  a  singular  fact  in  anthropology,  that  men  selected 
their  opposites  for  wives  ?  She  did  not  believe  her  guardian  ever 
thought  of  Clara  save  when  in  her  presence.  But  how  did  shf 


iS8  BEULAH. 

know  anything  about  his  thoughts  and  fancies,  ois  likes  and  din 
likes  ?  He  had  never  even  spoken  of  his  marriage — was  it  pr»v 
Dable  that  the  subject  of  a  second  love  would  have  escaped  him? 
All  this  passed  rapidly  in  her  mind,  and  when  Clara  called  her  to 
sit  down  on  the  couch  beside  her,  she  started  as  from  a  painful 
dream.  While  her  friend  talked  sadly  of  the  future,  Beulah  analyzed 
her  features,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  a  very  easj 
matter  to  love  her  ;  the  face  was  so  sweet  and  gentle,  the  manner 
30  graceful,  the  tone  so  musical  and  winning.  Absorbed  in 
thought,  neither  noted  the  lapse  of  time.  Midnight  passed  ;  two 
o'clock  came  ;  and  then  at  three,  a  knock  startled  the  watchers. 
Clara  sprang  to  the  door  ;  Dr.  Hartwell  pointed  to  the  sick 
room,  and  said  gently  : 

"  He  has  ceased  to  suffer.     lie  is  at  rest." 

She  looked  at  him  vacantly,  an  instant,  and  whispered,  undo 
her  breath  :  "  He  is  not  dead  ?" 

lie  did  not  reply,  and  with  a  frightened  expression,  she  glided 
into  the  chamber  of  death,  calling  piteously  on  the  sleeper  to 
come  back  and  shield  her.  Beulah  would  have  followed,  but 
the  doctor  detained  her. 

"  Not  yet,  child.     Not  yet." 

As  if  unconscious  of  the  act,  he  passed  his  arm  around  her 
shoulders,  and  drew  her  close  to  him.  She  looked  up  in  astonish- 
ment, but  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  kneeling  figure  in  the  room 
opposite,  and  she  saw  that,  just  then,  he  was  thinking  of  any- 
thing else  than  her  presence. 

"  Are  you  going  home  now,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  you  must  stay  with  that  poor  girl  yonder.  Can'* 
an  prevail  on  her  to  come  and  spend  a  few  days  with  you  ?" 

"  I  rather  think  not,"  answered  Beulah,  resolved  not  to  try. 

"  You  look  pale,  my  child.  Watching  is  not  good  for  you 
It  is  a  long  time  since  you  have  seen  death.  Strange  that  people 
will  not  see  it  as  it  is.  Passing  strange." 

"What  do 'you  mean?"  said  she,  striving  to  interpret  thf 
imile  that  wreathed  his  lips. 


BEULAH 


139 


"Ton  will  not  believe  if  I  tell  you.  l  Lift  is  *>vt  M?  germ  o] 
Duith,  and  Death  the  development  of  a  higher  Lift.'" 

"  Higher  in  the  sense  of  heavenly  immortality  ?" 

"  You  may  call  it  heavenly  if  you  choose.  Stay  here  till  thi 
funeral  is  over,  and  I  will  send  for  you.  Are  you  worn  out, 
child  ?"  lie  had  withdrawn  his  arm,  and  now  looked  anxicuslj 
at  her  colorless  face. 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Then  why  are  you  so  very  pale  ?" 

"  Did  you  ever  see  me,  sir,  when  I  was  anything  else  ?" 

"  I  have  seen  you  look  less  ghostly.  Good  bye."  He  leff  the 
nouse  without  even  shaking  hands. 

The  dny  which  succeeded  was  very  gloomy,  and  after  the 
j:;ueral  rites  had  been  performed,  and  the  second  day  looked  in, 
Beulah's  heart  rejoiced  at  the  prospect  of  returning  home. 
Clara  shrank  from  the  thought  of  being  left  alone,  the  little  cot- 
tage was  so  desolate.  She  would  give  it  up  now,  of  course,  and 
find  a  cheap  boarding-house  ;  but  the  furniture  must  be  rubbed, 
and  sent  down  to  an  auction  room,  and  she  dreaded  the  separa- 
tion froja  all  the  objects  which  linked  her  with  the  past. 

"  Clara,  I  have  been  commissioned  to  invite  you  to  spend 
several  days  with  me,  until  you  can  select  a  boarding-house.  Dr. 
Hartwell  will  be  glad  to  have  you  come." 

"  Did  he  say  so  ?"  asked  the  mourner,  shading  her  face  with 
her  hand. 

"He  told  me  I  must  bring  you  home  with  me,"  answered 
Benlah. 

"  Oh,  how  good,  how  noble  he  is  !  Beulah,  you  are  lucky, 
lucky  indeed."  She  dropped  her  head  on  her  arms. 

"  Clara,  I  believe  there  is  less  difference  in  our  positions  than 
fou  seem  to  imagine.  We  are  both  orphans,  and  in  about  a  yeat 
I  too  shall  be  a  teacher.  Dr.  Hartwell  is  my  guardian  and  pro- 
tector, but  he  will  be  a  kind  friend  to  you  also." 

*'  Beulah,  you  are  mad,  to  dream  of  leaving  him,  and  turning 
*&cher  1  I  am  older  than  you,  and  have  travelled  over  the  very 


140  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

track  that  you  are  so  eager  to  set  out  upon.  On,  take  raj 
advice  ;  stay  where  you  are  !  Would  you  leave  summer  sun- 
shine for  the  icebergs  of  Arctic  night  ?  Silly  girl,  appreciate 
your  good  fortune." 

"  Can  it  be  possible,  Clara,  that  you  are  fainting  so  soou  ? 
Where  are  all  your  firm  resolves?  If  it  is  your  duty,  what 
matter  the  difficulties  ?"  She  looked  down,  pityingly,  on  her 
companion,  as  in  olden  time  one  of  the  athlete  might  hare  done 
upon  a  drooping  comrade. 

"  Necessity  knows  no  conditions,  Beulah.  I  have  no  alterna 
tive  but  to  labor  in  that  horrible  treadmill  round,  day  after  day. 
You  are  more  fortunate  ;  can  have  a  home  of  elegance  luxury 
and  » 

"  And  dependence  1  Would  you  be  willing  to  change  places 
with  me,  and  indolently  wait  for  others  to  maintain  you '(" 
interrupted  Beulah,  looking  keenly  at  the  wan,  yet  lovely  face 
before  her. 

"  Ah,  gladly,  if  I  had  been  selected  as  you  were.  Once,  I 
too  felt  hopeful  and  joyous  ;  but  now  life  is  dreary,  almost  a  bui'- 
den.  Be  warned,  Beulah,  don't  suffer  your  haughty  spirit  to 
make  you  reject  the  offered  home  that  may  be  yours." 

There  was  a  strong  approach  to  contempt  in  the  expression 
with  which  Beulah  regarded  her,  as  the  last  words  were  uttered, 
aud  she  answered  coldly  : 

"  You  are  less  a  woman  than  I  thought  you,  if  you  would  be 
willing  to  live  on  the  bounty  of  others  when  a  little  actiyity 
Would  enable  you  to  support  yourself." 

"  Ah,  Beulah  1  it  is  not  only  the  bread  you  eat,  or  the 
;  clothes  that  you  wear  ;  it  is  sympathy  aud  kindness,  love  and 
i  watchfulness.  It  is  this  that  a  woman  wants.  Oh  I  was  her 
heart  made,  think  you,  to  be  filled  with  grammars  and  geogra- 
phies, and  copy  books  ?  Can  the  feeling  that  you  aw  independ- 
ent and  doing  your  duty,  satisfy  the  'onging  for  .'< her  idols? 
Oh  1  Duty  is  an  icy  shadow.  It  will  freeze  you.  It  cannot  fill 
whe  heart's  sanctuary.  Woman  was  intended  as  a  pet  plant,  to 


BEULAH.  Ul 

be  guarded  and  cherished  ;  isolated  and  uncared  for,  she  drotpa, 
languishes  and  dies."  Ah  !  the  dew-sparkle  had  exhaled,  and 
the  morning  glory  had  vanished  ;  the  noontide  heat  of  Ihe  con- 
flict was  creeping  on,  and  she  was  sinking  down,  impotent  to 
continue  the  struggle.  _/ 

"  Clara  Sanders,  I  don't  believe  one  word  of  all  tins  languish- 
ing nonsense.  As  to  my  being  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a 
sickly  geranium,  I  know  better.  If  you  have  concluded  that  yoc 
belong  to  that  dependent  family  of  plants,  I  pity  you  sincerely 
and  beg  that  you  will  not  put  me  in  any  such  category.  Dutj 
may  be  a  cold  shadow  to  you,  but  it  is  a  vast  volcanic  agency, 
constantly  impelling  me  to  action.  What  was  my  will  given  te 
me  for,  if  to  remain  passive  and  suffer  others  to  minister  to  its 
needs  ?  Dun't  talk  to  me  about  woman's  clinging,  dependent 
nature.  You  are  opening  your  lips  to  repeat  that  senseless  j 
simile  of  oaks  and  vines  ;  I  don't  want  to  hear  it ;  there  are  no  I 
creeping  tendencies  about  me.  You  can  wind,  and  lean,  and 
bang  on  somebody  else  if  you  like  ;  but  I  feel  more  like  one  of 
those  old  pine-trees  yonder.  I  can  stand  up.  Very  slim,  if  you 
will,  but  straight  and  high.  Stand  by  myself ;  battle  with  wind 
and  rain,  and  tempest  roar  ;  be  swayed  and  bent,  perhaps,  in 
the  storm,  but  stand  unaided,  nevertheless.  I  feel  humbled 
when  I  hear  a  woman  bemoaning  the  weakness  of  her  sex,  in« 
stead  of  showing  that  she  has  a  soul  and  mind  of  her  own, 
inferior  to  none." 

"  All  that  sounds  very  heroic  in  the  pages  of  a  novel,  but  tho 
reality  is  quite  another  matter.  A  tame,  joyless,  hopeless  time 
you  will  have  if  you  scorn  good  fortune,  as  you  threaten,  and  go 
fnto  the  world  to  support  yourself,"  answered  Clara,  impatiently 

"  I  would  rather  struggle  with  her  for  a  crust  than  hang  on 
her  garments  asking  a  palace.  I  don't  know  what  has  comu 
over  you.  You  are  strangely  changed,"  cried  Beulah,  pressing 
her  hands  on  her  friend's  shoulders. 

"  The  same  change  will  come  over  you  when  you  endure  what 
have.     With  all  your  boasted  strength,  you  are  but  a  woman  * 


112  BEULAH. 

have  a  woman's  heart,  and  one  day  will  be  unable  to  hnsh  ita 
hungry  cries." 

"  Then  I  will  crush  it ;  so  help  me  Heaven  !"  answered 
Beulah. 

"  No  !  sorrow  will  do  that  time  enough  ;  no  suicidal  effort 
will  be  necessary."  For  the  first  time,  Beulah  marked  an  cxpres« 
sion  of  bitterness  in  the  usually  gentle,  quiet  countenance.  She 
was  pained  more  than  she  chose  to  evince,  and  seeing  Dr. 
Eartwell's  carriage  at  the  door,  prepared  to  return  home. 

"  Tell  him  that  I  am  very  grateful  for  his  kind  offer  ;  that  his 
friendly  remembrance  is  dear  to  a  bereaved  orphan.  Ah, 
Beulah  !  I  have  known  him  from  my  childhood,  and  he  has 
always  been  a  friend  as  well  as  a  physician.  During  my 
mother's  long  illness,  he  watched  her  carefully  and  constantly, 
and  when  we  tendered  him  the  usual  recompense  for  his  services, 
he  refused  all  remuneration,  declaring  he  had  only  been  a  friend 
He  knew  we  were  poor,  and  could  ill  afford  any  expense.  Oh, 

do  you  wonder  that  I  .  Are  you  going  immediately] 

Come  often  when  I  get  to  a  boarding-house.  Do,  Beulah  !  I  am 
so  desolate  ;  so  desolate."  She  bowed  her  head  on  Beulah's 
shoulder,  and  wept  unrestrainedly. 

"  Yes,  I  will  come  as  often  as  I  can  ;  and,  Clara,  do  try  to 
cheer  up.  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  sink  down  'n  this  way."  Sh« 
kissed  the  tearful  face,  and  hurried  away. 

It  was  Saturday,  and  retiring  to  her  own  room,  she  answered 
Eugene's  brief  letter.  Long  before,  she  had  seen  with  painful 
anxiety,  that  he  wrote  more  and  more  rarely,  and  while  hia 
communications  clearly  conveyed  the  impression,  that  he  fancied 
they  were  essential  to  her  happiness,  the  protective  tenderness 
cf  early  years,  gave  place  to  a  certain  commanding,  yet  conde- 
scending tone.  Intuitively  perceiving,  yet  unable  to  anahze  this 
gradual  revol  itioa  of  feeling,  Beutah  was  sometimes  tempted  to 
cut  short  the  correspondence.  But  her  long  and  ardent  attach 
ment  drowned  the  whispers  of  wounded  pride,  and  hallowed 
memories  of  his  boyish  love,  ever  prevented  an  expression  of  tht 


.       BECLAH.  143 

pain  and  wonder,  with  which  she  beheld  the  alteration  in  his 
character.  Unwilling  to  accuse  him  of  the  weakness,  which 
prompted  much  of  his  arrogance  and  egotism,  hti*  heart  framed 
various  excuses  for  his  seeming  coldness.  At  first  she  had 
written  often,  and  without  reference  to  ordinary  epistolary  debts, 
but  uow  she  regularly  waited  (and  that  for  some  time)  for  the 
arrival  cf  his  letters  ;  not  from  a  diminution  of  affection,  so 
much  as  from  true  womanly  delicacy,  lest  she  should  obtrude 
herself  too  frequently  upon  his  notice.  More  than  once  she  had 
been  troubled  by  a  dawning  consciousness  of  her  own  superi- 
ority, but  accustomed  for  years  to  look  up  to  him  as  a  sort  of 
infallible  guide,  she  would  not  admit  the  suggestion,  and  tried 
to  keep  alive  the  admiring  respect,  with  which  she  had  been 
wont  to  defer  to  his  judgment.  He  seemed  to  consider  hit 
dogmatic  dictation  both  acceptable  and  necessary,  and  it  wa« 
this  assumed  mastery,  unaccompanied  with  manifestation^ 
of  former  tenderness,  which  irritated  and  aroused  her  pridfi  *. 
With  the  brush  of  youthful  imagination  she  had  painted 
*jim  as  the  future  statesman — gifted,  popular,  and  revered  } 
and  while  visions  of  his  fame  and  glory  flitted  before  her 
the  promise  of  sharing  all  with  her  was  by  no  mealis  the 
least  fascinating  feature  in  her  fancy  picture.  Of  late,  how 
ever,  he  had  ceased  to  speak  of  the  choice  of  a  profession,  and 
mentioned  vaguely  Mr.  Graham's  wish  that  he  should  ac- 
quaint himself  thoroughly  with  French,  German,  and  Spanish, 
in  order  to  facilitate  the  correspondence  of  the  firm  with 
foreign  houses.  She  felt  that  once  embarked  on  the  sea  of 
mercantile  life,  he  would  have  little  leisure  or  inclination  to 
pursue  the  paths  which  she  hoped  to  travel  by  his  side,  and,  on 
tins  occasion,  her  letter  was  longer  and  more  earnest  than  usual, 
'irging  his  adherence  to  the  original  choice  of  the  law,  and 
jsing  every  forcible  argument  she  could  adduce.  Finally,  thu 
-eply  was  scaled  and  directed,  and  she  went  down  to  the  study 
to  place  it  in  the  marble  receiver  which  stood  on  her  guardian'* 
iesk.  Hal,  who  accompanied  the  doctor  in  his  louud  of  visit*. 


14  BEULAH. 

always  took  their  letters  to  the  post-office,  and  pnnctuaiij 
deposited  all  directed  to  them  in  the  vase.  To  her  sur- 
prise she  found  no  fire  in  the  grate.  The  blu,ds  were  drawn 
closely,  and  in  placing  her  letter  on  the  desk,  she  noticed 
several  addressed  to  the  doctor,  and  evidently  unopened.  They 
must  have  arrived  the  day  before,  and  while  she  wondered  at 
the  aspect  of  the  room,  Harriet  entered. 

"  Miss  Beulah,  do  you  know  how  long  master  expects  to  be 
gone  ?  I  thought,  maybe,  you  could  tell  when  you  came  home, 
for  Mrs.  Watson  does  not  seem  to  know  any  more  thau  I  do." 

"  Gone  !     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Don't  you  know  he  has  gone  up  the  river  to  the  plantation  ? 
Why,  I  packed  his  valise  at  daylight  yesterday,  and  he  left  in 
the  early  morning  boat.  He  has  not  been  to  the  plantation 
pince  just  before  you  came  here.  Hal  says  he  heard  him  tell 
Dr.  Asbury  to  take  charge  of  his  patients,  that  his  overseer  had 
to  be  looked  after.  He  told  me  he  was  gokig  to  the  plantation, 
and  I  would  have  asked  him  when  he  was  coming  back,  but  he 
was  in  one  of  his  unsatisfactory  ways  ;  looked  just  like  h'ia 
mouth  had  been  dipped  iu  hot  sealing-wax,  so  I  held  my 
tongue." 

Beulah  bit  her  lips  with  annoyance,  but  sat  down  before  the 
melodcon,  and  said  as  unconcernedly  as  possible  : 

"  I  did  not  know  he  had  left  the  city,  and  of  conrse  have  no 
idea  when  he  will  be  back.  Harriet,  please  make  me  a  fire 
here,  or  call  Hal  to  do  it." 

"  There  is  a  good  fire  in  the  dining-room  ;  better  go  in  there 
and  sit  with  Mrs.  Watson.  She  is  busy  seeding  raisins  fo* 
mincemeat  and  fruit-cake." 

"  No,  I  would  rather  stay  here." 

"  Then  I  will  kindle  you  a  fire  right  away." 

Harriet  moved  about  the  room  with  cheerful  alacrity.  She 
iad  always  seemed  to  consider  herself  Beulah's  special  guardian 
tnd  friend,  and  gave  continual  proof  of  the  strength  of  her 
affection.  Evidently  she  desired  to  talk  about  her  master,  but 


BEULAH. 

Benlah's  face  gave  her  no  encouiagement  to  proceed  She  made 
several  efforts  to  renew  the  conversation,  but  they  were  not 
seconded,  and  she  withdrew,  muttering  to  herself : 

"  She  is  learning  all  his  ways.  He  does  hate  to  talk  any  more 
than  he  can  help,  and  she  is  patterning  after  him  just  as  fast  us 
she  can.  They  don't  seem  to  know  what  the  Lord  gave  them 
tongues  for." 

Beulah  practised  perseveringly,  for  some  time,  and  then  draw- 
ing a  chair  near  the  fire,  sat  down  and  leaned  her  head  on  her 
hand.  She  missed  her  guardian — wanted  to  see  him — felt  sur- 
prised at  his  sudden  departure,  and  mortified  that  he  had  not 
thought  her  of  sufficient  consequence  to  bid  adieu  to,  and  be 
apprised  of  his  intended  trip.  He  treated  her  precisely  as  he 
did  when  she  first  entered  the  house  ;  seemed  to  consider  her  a 
mere  child,  whereas  she  knew  she  was  no  longer  such.  He 
never  alluded  to  her  plan  of  teaching,  and  when  she  chanced  to 
mention  it,  he  offered  no  comment,  looked  indifferent  or  ab- 
stracted. Though  invariably  kind,  and  sometimes  humoroas, 
there  was  an  impenetrable  reserve  respecting  himself,  his  past 
uivil  future,  which  was  never  laid  aside.  When  not  engaged  with 
his  flowers  or  music,  he  was  deep  in  some  favorite  volume,  and, 
outside  of  these  sources  of  enjoyment,  seemed  to  derive  no  real 
pleasure.  Occasionally  he  had  visitors,  but  these  were  generally 
strangers,  often  persons  residing  at  a  distance,  and  Beulah  knew 
nothing  of  them.  Several  times  he  had  attended  concerts  and 
Lectures,  but  she  had  never  accompanied  him  ;  and  frequently, 
vhcn  sitting  by  his  side,  felt  as  if  a  glacier  lay  between  them. 
Alter  Mrs.  Chiltou's  departure  for  New  York,  where  she  and 
Pauline  were  boarding,  no  ladies  ever  came  to  the  house, 
except  a  few  of  middle  age,  who  called  now  and  then  to  see 
Mrs.  Wats  on,  and,  utterly  isolated  from  society,  Beulah  was 
»ouscious  of  entire  ignorance  of  all  that  passed  in  polite  circles. 
Twice  Claudia  had  called,  but  unable  to  forget  the  past  suffi- 
ciently to  enter  Mrs.  Graysou's  house,  their  intercourse  had 
with  Claudia's  visits.  Mrs.  Watson  was  a  kind-hearted 
1 


146  BEULAH. 

and  most  excellent  woman,  who  made  an  admirable  housekeeper, 
but  possessed  few  of  the  qualifications  requisite  to  render  ha 
en  agreeable  companion.  With  an  ambitious  nature,  and  ai 
eager  thirst  for  knowledge,  Beulah  had  improved  her  advantagei 
as  only  those  do  who  have  felt  the  need  of  them.  While  S!K 
acquired,  with  unusual  ease  and  rapidity,  the  branches  of  learn 
ing  taught  at  school,  she  had  availed  herself  of  the  extensive 
and  select  library,  to  which  she  had  free  access,  and  history, 
biography,  travels,  essays  and  novels  had  been  perused  with 
singular  avidity.  Dr.  Hartwell,  without  restricting  her  reading, 
suggested  the  propriety  of  incorporating  more  of  the  poetic 
element  in  her  course.  The  hint  was  timely,  and  induced  an 
acquaintance  with  the  great  bards  of  England  and  Germany, 
,  although  her  taste  led  her  to  select  works  of  another  character. 
Her  secluded  life  favored  habits  of  study,  and  at  an  age  when  p\rls 
are  generally  just  beginning  to  traverse  the  fields  of  literature,  she 
bad  progressed  so  far  as  to  explore  some  of  the  footpaths  wiiich 
entice  contemplative  minds  from  the  beaten  track.  With  earlie? 
cultivation  and  superiority  of  years,  Eugeue  had  essayed  to  direct 
her  reading  ;  but  now,  in  point  of  advancement,  she  felt  that  she 
was  in  the  van.  Dr.  Hartwell  had  told  her,  whenever  she  was 
puzzled,  to  come  to  him  for  explanation,  and  his  clear  analysis 
taught  her  how  immeasurably  superior  he  was,  even  to  those 
instructors  whose  profession  it  was  to  elucidate  mysteries.  Ac- 
customed to  seek  companionship  in  books,  she  did  not,  upon  the 
present  occasion,  long  reflect  on  her  guardian's  sudden  departure, 
but  took  from  the  shelves  a  volume  of  Poe  which  contained  her 
mark.  The  parting  rays  of  the  winter  sun  grew  fainter ;  the 
dull,  sombre  light  of  vanishing  day  made  the  room  dim,  and  it 
was  only  by  means  of  the  red  glare  from  the  glowing  grate  that 
he  deciphered  the  print.  Finally  the  lamp  was  brought  in,  ana 
shed  a  mellow  radiance  over  the  dusky  apartment.  The  volume 
was  finished,  and  dropped  upon  her  lap.  The  spell  of  this 
incomparable  sorcerer  was  upon  her  imagination  j  the  sluggish, 
lurid  taru  of  Usher  ;  the  pale,  gigantic  water  lilies,  nodding 


BEULAH.  147 

tlieh  ghastly,  everlasting  heads  over  the  dreary  Za'ire  ;  the 
shrouding  shadow  of  KeiusSon  ;  the  ashen  skies,  and  sere,  crisped 
leaves  in  the  ghoul-haunted  woodland  of  Weir,  hard  by  the 
dim  lake  of  Auber — all  lay  with  grim  distinctness  before  her ; 
and  from  the  red  bars  of  the  grate,  the  wild,  lustrous,  appalling 
eyes  of  Ligeia  looked  out  at  her,  while  the  unearthly  tones  of 
Morella  whispered  from  every  corner  of  the  room.  She  rose 
and  replaced  the  book  on  the  shelf,  striving  to  shake  off  the  dis- 
mal hold  which  all  this  phantasmagoria  had  taken  on  her  fancy. 
Her  eyes  chanced  to  fall  upon  a  bust  of  Athene  which  surmounted 
her  guardian's  desk,  and  immediately  the  mournful  refrain  of  the 
Raven,  solemn  and  dirge-like,  floated  through  the  air,  enhancing 
the  spectral  element  which  enveloped  her.  She  retreated  to  the 
parlor,  and  running  her  fingers  over  the  keys  of  the  piano, 
endeavored  by  playing  some  of  her  favorite  airs,  to  divest  her 
mind  of  the  dreary,  unearthly  images  which  haunted  it.  Tho 
attempt  was  futile,  aud  there  in  the  dark,  cold  parlor,  she  leaned 
her  head  against  the  piano,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  guidance 
ot  one  who,  like  the  "  Ancient  Mariner,"  holds  his  listener  fasci-  - 
iiated  and  breathless.  Once  her  guardian  had  warned  her  not  to 
study  Poe  too  closely,  but  the  book  was  often  in  his  own  hand, 
and  yielding  to  the  matchless  ease  and  rapidity  of  his  diction, 
she  found  herself  wandering  iu  a  wilderness  of  baffling  sugges- 
tions. Under  the  drapery  of  "  William  Wilson,"  of  "  Morella  "  ' 
and  "  Ligeia,"  she  caught  tantalizing  glimpses  of  recondite 
psychological  truths  and  processes,  which  dimly  hovered  over  her 
own  consciousness,  but  ever  eluded  the  grasp  cf  analysis.  While 
his  unique  imagery  filled  her  mind  with  wondering  delight,  she 
shrank  appalled  from  the  mutilated  fragments  whi(  h  he  pre- 
sented to  her  as  truths,  on  the  point  of  his  glittering  scalpel  of 
logic.  With  the  eagerness  of  a  child  clutching  at  its  own 
shadow  in  a  glassy  lake,  and  thereby  destroying  it,  she  had  read 
that  anomalous  prose  poem  "  Eureka."  The  quaint  humor  of 
that  "bottled  letter"  first  arrested  her  attention,  and,  once 
launched  on  the  sea  of  Cosmogonies,  she  was  amazed  at  tht 


14-8  BEULAH. 


]y  infallible  reasoning,  which,  at  the  conclusion, 
iuformed  her  that  she  was  her  own  God.  Mystified,  shocked1 
and  y:.t  ad  miring,  she  had  gone  to  Dr.  Hartwell  for  a  solution  of 
the  -Jiificulty.  False  she  felt  the  whole  icy  tissue  to  be,  yet 
cotld  not  detect  the  adroitly  disguised  sophisms.  Instead  of 
assisting  her,  as  usual,  he  took  the  book  from  her,  smiled  and 
put  it  away,  saying,  indifferently  : 

"You  must  not  play  with  such  sharp  tools  just  yet.  Go  and 
practise  your  music  lesson." 

She  was  too  deeply  interested  to  be  put  off  so  quietly,  and 
constantly  pondered  this  singular  production,  which  confirmed 
n  some  degree  a  fancy  of  her  own  concerning  the  preexistenco 
of  the  soul.  Only  on  the  hypothesis  of  an  anterior  life  could  she 
explain  some  of  the  mental  phenomena  which  puzzled  her. 
Heedless  of  her  guardian's  warning,  she  had  striven  to  compre- 
hend the  philosophy  of  this  methodical  madman,  and  now  felt 
bewildered  and  restless.  This  study  of  Poe  was  the  portal 
through  which  she  er  ered  the  vast  Pantheon  of  Speculation 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

A  WEEK  later,  at  the  close  of  a  dull  winter  day,  Beulan  sat,  aa 
usual  in  the  study.  The  large  parlors  and  diuing-room  had  a 
desolate  look  at  all  times,  and  of  the  whole  house,  only  the  study 
seemed  genial.  Busily  occupied  during  the  day,  ii,  was  not  until 
evening  that  she  realized  her  guardian's  absence.  No  tidings  o! 
him  had  been  received,  and  she  began  to  wonder  at  his  pro- 
longed stay.  She  felt  very  lonely  without  him,  and  though 
generally  taciturn,  she  missed  him  from  the  hearth,  m'sned  the 
tall  form,  and  the  sad,  stern  face.  Another  Saturday  had  corny, 
and  all  day  she  had  been  with  Clara  in  her  new  home,  trying  to 


B  £  U  L  A  H  .  14b 

cheer  the  mourner,  and  dash  away  the  gloom  that  seemed  set 
tling  down  upon  her  spirits.  At  dusk,  she  returned  home, 
spent  an  hour  at  the  piano,  and  now  wait  ed  up  and  down  the 
study,  rapt  in  thought.  The  room  had  a  cozy,  comfortable 
aspect;  the  fire  burned  brightly;  the  lamp  light  silvered  the 
paintings  and  statues;  and  on  the  rug  before  the  grate  lay  a 
huge  black  clog  of  the  St.  Bernard  order,  his  shaggy  head  thrust 
between  his  paws.  The  large,  intelligent  eyes,  followed  Beulab 
as  she  paced  to  and  fro,  and  seemed  mutely  to  question  hei 
restlessness.  His  earnest  scrutiny  attracted  her  notice,  and  she 
held  out  her  hand,  saying,  musingly; 

"  Poor  Charon;  you  too  miss  your  master.  Charon,  King  of 
Shadows,  when  will  he  come." 

The  great  black  eyes  gazed  intently  into  hers,  and  seemed  to  ' 
echo,  "  when  will  he  come  ?"  He  lifted  his  grim  head,  snuffed 
the  air,  listened,  and  sullenly  dropped  his  face  on  his  paws  again, 
Beulah  threw  herself  on  the  rug,  and  laid  her  head  on  his  thick 
neck;  he  gave  a  quick,  short  bark  of  satisfaction,  and  very  soon 
both  girl  and  dog  were  fast  asleep.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  glided 
by,  and  then  Beulah  was  suddenly  roused  by  a  violent  motion 
of  her  pillow.  Charon  sprang  up,  and  leaped  frantically  across 
the  room.  The  comb  which  confined  her  hair  had  fallen  out, 
and  gathering  up  the  jetty  folds  which  swept  over  her  shoulders, 
she  looked  around.  Dr.  Hartwell  was  closing  the  door. 

"Down,  Charon;  you  ebon  scampi  Down,  you  keeper  of 
Styx!"  He  forced  down  the  paws  from  his  shoulders,  and 
patted  the  shaggy  head,  while  his  eyes  rested  affectionately  on 
the  delighted  countenance  of  his  sable  favorite.  As  he  threw 
down  his  gloves,  his  eyes  fell  on  Beulah,  who  had  hastily  risen 
lorn  the  rug,  and  he  held  out  his  hand,  saying: 

"  Ah!  Charon  waked  you  rudely.     How  are  you  ?" 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,  sir.  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come 
home,  so  glad."  She  took  his  cold  hand  between  both  herj, 
rubbed  it  vigorously,  and  looked  up  joyfully  in  his  face.  Sh« 
thought  he  was  paler  and  more  haggard  than  she  had  ev^r  seen 


150  BEDLAtt. 

him;  his  hair  clustered  in  disorder  about  his  forehead;  his  whol« 
aspect  was  weary  and  wretched.  He  suffered  her  to  keep  his 
band  in  her  warm  tij  ht  clasp,  and  asked  kindly: 

•'.Are  you  well,  Boulah  ?  Your  face  is  flushed,  and  you  feel 
feverish." 

"  Perfectly  well.  But  yon  are  as  cold  as  an  Esquimaux 
bunter.  Come  to  the  fire."  She  drew  his  arm-chair,  with  its 
candle-stand  and  book-board,  close  to  the  hearth,  and  put  hia 
warm  velvet  slippers  before  him.  She  forgot  her  wounded  pride; 
forgot  that  he  had  left  without  even  bidding  her  good  bye;  and 
only  remembered  that  he  had  come  home  again,  that  he  was 
sitting  there  in  the  study,  and  she  would  be  lonely  no  more. 
Silently  leaning  back  in  the  chair,  he  closed  his  eyes  with  a  sigh 
of  relief.  She  felt  as  if  she  would  like  very  much  to  smooth  ofi 
the  curling  hair  that  lay  thick  and  damp  on  his  white,  gleaming 
brow,  but  dared  not.  She  stood  watching  him  for  a  moment, 
and  said  considerately: 

"  Will  you  have  your  tea  now  ?  Charon  and  I  had  our  sap- 
pur  long  ago." 

"No,  child;  I  only  want  to  rest." 

Beulah  fancied  he  spoke  impatiently.  Had  she  been  too  ofll- 
cious  in  welcoming  him  to  his  own  home  ?  She  bit  her  lip  with 
proud  vexation,  and  taking  her  geometry,  left  him.  As  she 
reached  the  door,  the  doctor  called  to  her: 

"  Beulah,  you  need  not  go  away.  This  is  a  better  fire  than 
the  one  in  your  own  room."  But  she  was  wounded,  and  did  no; 
shoose  to  stay. 

"  I  can  study  better  in  my  own  room.     Good  night,  sir." 
"  Why,  child,  this   is    Saturday  night.      No   lessons   natl 
Monday." 

She  was  not  particularly  mollified  by  tho  reiteration  of  ilie 
irord  "  child,"  and  answered,  coldly  : 

"  There  are  hard  lessons  for  every  day  we  lire." 

"  Well,  be  good  enough  to  hand  ine  the  letters  chat  hay« 
arrived  during  my  absence  w 


BEULAH.  151 

SI  e  emptied  the  etter  receiver,  'and  placed  several  communi 
cutic  is  in  his  hand.  He  pointed  to  a  chair  near  the  fire,  and 
said,  quietly : 

"   iit  down,  my  child;  sit  down." 

T(  o  proud  to  discover  how  much  she  was  piqued  by  his  cold 
ness,  sha  took  the  seat  and  commenced  studying.  But  lines  ancl 
angl  s  swam  confusedly  before  her,  and,  shutting  the  book,  sh 
sat  1  .oking  into  the  fire.  While  her  eyes  roamed  into  the  deep, 
glo\*  ng  crevices  of  the  coals,  a  letter  was  hurled  into  the  fiery 
masi  and  in  an  instant  blazed  and  shrivelled  to  ashes.  She 
look  d  up  in  surprise,  and  started  at  the  expression  of  her 
gua;  lian's  face.  Its  Autiuoiis-like  beauty  had  vanished  ;  the 
pah,  ips  writhed,  displaying  the  faultless  teeth;  the  thin  nostrils 
wen.  expanded,  and  the  eyes  burned  with  fierce  anger.  The 
avd  »nche  was  upheaved  by  hidden  volcanic  fires,  and  he 
excY'.irued,  with  scornful  emphasis  :  4 

"  Idiot !  blind  lunatic  !     In  his  dotage  1" 

There  was  something  so  marvellous  in  this  excited,  angry 
manifestation,  that  Beulah,  who  had  never  before  seen  him  other 
than  phlegmatic,  looked  at  him  with  curious  wonder.  Hia 
cleiicned  hand  rested  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  he  continued, 
sarcastically  : 

"  Oh,  a  precious  pair  of  idiots  !  They  will  have  a  glorious 
life.  Sucl  harmony,  such  congeniality  1  Such  incomparable 
sweetness,  on  her  part,  such  equable  spirits  on  his  1  Not  the 
surpassing  Depose  of  a  windless  tropic  night  can  approach  to  the 
divine  setenity  of  their  future.  Ha  !  by  the  Furies  !  he  will 
Lave  an  enviable  companion;  a  matchless  Griselda  !"  Laughing 
scornfully,  he  started  up  and  strode  across  the  floor.  As  Beulah 
caught  the  withering  expression  which  sat  on  every  feature,  she 
shuddered  involuntarily.  Could  she  bear  to  incur  his  contempt  ?  ,• 
He  appro?  died  her,  and  she  felt  as  though  her  very  soul  shrank 
from  him  ;  his  glowing  eyes  seemed  to  burn  her  face,  as  In 
paused  ar.  I  said,  ironically  : 

"  Can't  you  participate  in  my  joy  ?     I  have  a  new  brother iu 


152  BEULAH. 

law.     Congratulate  me  on  my  sister's  marriage.     Suih  desperatf 
good  news  can  come  but  rarely  in  a  lifetime." 

"  Whom  has  she  married,  sir  ?"  asked  Beulah,  shrinking  from 
the  iron  grasp  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Percy  Lockhart,  of  course.  He  will  rue  his  madness.  I 
warned  him.  Now  let  him  seek  apples  in  the  orchards  of 
Sodom!  Let  him  lay  his  parched  lips  to  the  treacherous  waves 
of  the  Dead  Sea  1  Oh,  I  pity  the  fool  1  I  tried  to  save  him, 
but  he  would  seal  his  own  doom.  Let  him  pay  the  usurious 
school- fees  of  experience." 

"  Perhaps  your  sister's  love  for  him  will " 

"  Oh,  you  young,  ignorant  lamb  1  You  poor,  little  unfledged 
birdling  I  I  suppose  you  fancy  she  is  really  attached  to  him. 
Do  you,  indeed  ?  About  as  'much  as  that  pillar  of  salt  in  the 
plain  of  Sodom  was  attached  to  the  memory  of  Lot.  About  as 
much  as  this  peerless  Niobe  of  mine  is  attached  to  me."  Ho 
struck  the  marble  statue  as  he  spoke. 

"  Then,  how  could  she  marry  him  ?"  asked  Beulah,  naively. 

"  Ha  !  ha  1  I  will  present  you  to  the  Smithsonian  Institute 
as  the  last  embodiment  of  effete  theories.  Who  exhumed  you, 
putron  saint  of  archaism,  from  the  charnel-hor,se  of  centuries  ?" 
Ho  looked  down  at  her  with  an  expression  of  intolerable  bitter- 
ness and  scorn.  Her  habitually  pale  face  flushed  to  crimson,  as 
she  answered  with  sparkling  eyes  : 

"  Not  the  hands  of  Diogenes,  encumbered  with  his  tub  1" 

He  smiled  grimly. 

"  Know  the  world  as  I  do,  child,  and  tubs  and  palaces 
will  be  alike  o  you.  Feel  the  pulse  of  humanity,  and  yon 
will » 

"  flea?en  preserve  me  from  looking  on  life  through  your 
ipectaclcs  1"  cried  sli3,  impetuously,  stung  by  the  contempturu? 
smile  which  curled  his  lips. 

"  Amen."  Taking  his  hands  from  her  shoulder,  he  threw 
himself  back  into  his  chair  There  was  silence  for  some  rninu:ea 
B.nd  Beulah  said  : 


BEULAB.  153 

"  I  thought  Mr.  Lockhart  was  in  Syria  ?" 

"Oh,  no;  he  wants  a  companion  in  his  jaunt  to  the  Hjl) 
fjand.  How  devoutly  May  will  kneel  on  Olivet  and  Moriah  ! 
What  pious  tears  will  stain  her  lovely  cheek  as  she  stands  in  tht 
hall  of  Pilate,  and  calls  to  mind  all  the  thirty  years'  history . 
Oh  !  1'ercy  is  cruel  to  subject  her  tender  soul  to  such  torturing 
associations.  Bculah,  go  and  play  something  ;  no  matter  what, 
Anything  to  hush  my  cursing  mood.  Go,  child."  He  turned 
away  his  face  to  hide  its  bitterness,  and,  seating  herself  at  the 
melodeon,  Beulah  played  a  German  air,  of  which  he  was  very 
fond.  At  the  conclusion,  he  merely  said  : 

"  Sing." 

A  plaintive  prelude  followed  the  command,  and  she  sang.  No 
description  could  do  justice  to  the  magnificent  voice,  as  it  swelled 
deep  and  full  in  its  organ-like  tones  ;  now  thrillingly  low  in  its 
wailing  melody,  and  now  ringing  clear  and  sweet  as  silver  bells. 
There  were  soft,  rippling  notes/  that  seemed  to  echo  from  tho 
deeps  of  her  soul,  and  voice  its  immensity.  It  was  wonderful 
what  compass  there  was,  what  rare  sweetness  and  purity  too.  It 
was  a  natural  gift,  like  that  conferred  on  birds.  Art  could  not 
produce  it,  but  practice  and  scientific  culture  had  improved  and 
perfected  it.  For  three  years  the  best  teacher?  had  instructed 
her,  and  she  felt  that  now  she  was  mistress  of  a  spell  which, 
once  invoked,  might  easily  exorcise  the  evil  spirit  which  had 
taken  possession  of  her  guardian.  She  sang  several  of  hia 
favorite  songs,  then  closed  the  melodeon,  and  went  back  to  the 
6  re.  Dr.  Hartwell's  face  lay  against  the  purple  velvet  lining  of 
the  chair,  and  the  dark  surface  gave  out  the  contour  with  bold 
distinctness.  His  eyes  were  closed,  and  as  Beulah  watched  him, 
he  thought,  "  how  inflexible  he  looks,  how  like  a  marble  image. 
The  moutt  seems  as  if  the  sculptor's  chisel  had  just  carved  it  ; 
*o  stern,  sc  stony.  Ah  I  he  is  not  scornful  now  ;  he  looks  only 
sad,  uncomplaining,  but  very  miserable.  What  has  steeled  hii 
heart,  and  made  him  so  unrelenting,  so  haughty  ?  What  c&v 
have  isolated  him  so  completely  ?  Nature  lavished  on  him  ever/ 
7* 


i54  BEULAB. 

gift  ,vhich  could  render  him  the  charm  of  social  circles,  yet  bt 
lives  in  the  seclusion  of  his  own  heart,  independent  of  sympathy 
contemptuous  of  the  world  he  was  sent  to  improve  and  bless." 
Those  reflections  were  interrupted  by  his  opening  his  eyes,  and 
nay  ing,  in  his  ordinary,  calm  tone  : 

"  Thank  you,  Beulah.  Did  you  finish  that  opera  I  spoke  of 
;,ome  time  since  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  found  it  difficult  ?" 

"  Not  so  difficult  as  your  description  led  me  to  imagine." 

"  Were  you  lonely  while  I  was  away  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Why  did  not  Clara  come  and  stay  with  you  ?" 

"  She  was  engaged  in  changing  her  home  ;  has  removed  to 
Mrs.  Hoyt's  boardiug-house." 

"  When  did  you  see  her  last  ?   How  does  she  bear  the  blow  ?" 

"  I  was  with  her  to-day.  She  is  desponding,  and  seems  to 
jrow  more  so  daily." 

She  wondered  very  much  whether  he  suspected  the  preference 
which  she  felt  sure  Clara  entertained  for  him  ;  and  as  the  sub- 
ject recurred  to  her,  she  looked  troubled. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  he  asked,  accustomed  to  reading  her 
expressive  face. 

"  Nothing  that  can  be  remedied,  sir." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?    Suppose  you  let  me  be  the  judge." 

"  You  could  not  judge  of  it,  sir  ;  and  besides,  it  is  no  concern 


iti  mine." 

A  frigid  smile  fled  over  his  face,  and  for  some  time  he  appeared 
lo?.t  in  thought.  His  companion  was  thinking  too  ;  wondering 
how  Clara  coald  cope  with  such  a  nature  as  his  ;  wondering  why 
people  always  selected  persons  totally  unsuited  to  them  ;  and 
fancying  that  if  Clara  only  knew  her  guardian's  character  as 
well  as  she  did,  the  gentle  girl  would  shrink  in  dread  from  his 
unbending  will,  his  habitual,  moody  taciturnity.  He  was  gene 
tons  and  unselfish,  but  also  as  unyielding  as  the  Rock  of  Gibral 


BEULAH.  155 

tar,  There  was  nothing  pleasurable  in  this  train  of  thought,  ana 
taking  ap  a  boc^  she  soon  ceased  to  think  of  the  motionless 
figure  opposite.  No  sooner  were  her  eyes  once  fastened  on- her 
book,  than  his  rested  searchingly  on  her  face.  At  first  she  read 
without  much  manifestation  of  interest,  regularly  and  slowly 
passing  her  hand  over  the  black  head  which  Charon  had  laid  on 
her  lap.  After  a  while  the  lips  parted  eagerly,  the  leaves  were 
turned  quickly,  and  the  touches  on  Charon's  head  ceased.  Her 
long,  .black  lashes,  could  not  veil  the  expression  of  enthusiastic 
pleasure.  Another  page  fluttered  over,  a  flush  stole  across  hei 
brow  ;  and  as  she  closed  the  volume,  her  whole  face  was  irradi 
ated. 

"  What  are  you  reading  ?"  asked  Dr.  Hartwell,  when  she  seamed 
to  sink  into  a  reverie. 

"  Analects  from  Richter." 

"  De  Quiucey's  1" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Once  that  marvellous  '  Dream  upon  the  Universe '  fascinated 
me  as  completely  as  it  now  does  you." 

Memories  of  earlier  days  clustered  about  him,  parting  the 
lombre  clouds  with  their  rosy  fingers.  His  features  began  t<" 
soften. 

"  Sir,  can  you  read  it  now  without  feeling  your  soul  kindle  ?" 

"  Yes,  child  :  it  has  lost  its  interest  for  me.  I  read  it  as  indif- 
ferently as  I  do  one  of  my  medical  books.  So  will  you  one  day." 

"  Never  !  It  shall  be  a  guide-book  to  my  soul,  telling  of  the 
pathway  arched  with  galaxies  and  paved  with  suns,  through 
which  that  soul  shall  pass  in -triumph  to  its  final  rest !" 

"And  who  shall  remain  in  that  'illimitable  dungeon  of  pure, 
cure  darkness,  which  imprisons  creation  ?  That  dead  sea  of 
nothing,  in  whose  unfathomable  zone  of  blackness  the  jewel  of 
the  glittering  universe  is  set,  and  buried  forever  ?'  Child,  is  no: 
that,  too,  a  dwelling-place  ?"  He  passed  his  fingers  through  hii 
hair,  sweeping  it  all  back  from  his  ample  forehead  Ceulab 
opened  the  book,  and  read  aloud : 


156  BETJLAH. 

H  Immediately  my  eyes  were  opened,  and  I  saw,  as  it  were,  n 
interminable  sea  of  light  :  all  spaces  between  all  heavens  wer« 
filled  with  happiest  light,  for  the  deserts  and  wastes  of  the  crea 
tion  were  now  filled  with  the  sea  of  light,  and  in  this  sea  th« 
suns  floated  like  ash-grey  blossoms,  and  the  planets  like  black 
grains  of  seed.  Then  my  heart  comprehended  that  immortality 
dwelled  in  the  spaces  between  the  worlds,  and  Death  only  among 
ike  worlds;  and  the  murky  planets  I  perceived  were  but  cradlea 
for  the  infant  spirits  of  the  universe  of  light  !  In  the  Zaarahs  ol 
the  creation  I  saw,  I  heard,  I  felt — the  glittering,  the  echoing, 
the  breathing  of  life  and  creative  power  1" 

She  closed  the  volume,  and  while  her  lips  trembled  with  deep 
feeling,  added  earnestly  : 

"  Oh,  sir,  it  makes  me  long,  like  Jean  Paul,  '  for  some  narrow 
cell  or  quiet  oratory  in  this  metropolitan  cathedral  of  the  uni- 
verse.' It  is  an  infinite  conception  and  painting  of  infinity,  which 
my  soul  endeavors  to  grasp,  but  wearies  in  thinking  of  1" 

Dr.  Hartwell  smiled,  and  pointing  to  a  row  of  books,  said 
with  some  eagerness  : 

"  I  will  test  your  love  of  Jean  Paul.  Give  me  that  large 
»olume  in  crimson  binding  on  the  second  shelf.  No — further 
on  ;  that  is  it." 

He  turned  over  the  leaves  for  a  few  minutes,  and  with  a  finger 
still  on  the  page,  put  it  into  her  hand,  saying  : 

"  Begin  here  at  '  I  went  through  the  worlds,'  and  read  down 
to  '  when  I  awoke.'  " 

She  sat  down  and  read.  He  put  his  hand  carelessly  over  his 
eyes,  and  watched  her  curiously  through  his  fingers.  It  waa 
evident  that  she  soon  became  intensely  interested.  He  could 
v;e  the  fierce  throbbing  of  a  vein  in  her  throat,  and  the  tight 
clutching  of  her  fingers.  Her  eyebrows  met  in  'the  wrinkling 
forehead,  and  the  lips  were  compressed  severely.  Gradually  the 
flush  faded  from  her  cheek,  an  expression  of  pain  and  horror 
swept  over  her  stormy  face,  and  rising  hastily,  she  exclaimed  : 

"  False  I  false  I     '  That  everlasting  storm  which  no  one  guidea 


BEOLAH.  157 

tells  me  in  thunder  tones  that  there  is  a  home  of  rest  iL  the  pre- 
sence of  the  in6uite  father  !  Oh,  chance  does  not  roam,  like  a 
destroying  angel,  through  that '  sno\v-po\vder  of  stars  !'  The  Ic  ve 
of  our  God  is  over  all  his  works  as  a  mantle  1  Though  you  should 
'take  the  wings  of  the  morning  and  dwell  in  the  uttermost  parta 
of  the  sea,'  lo  1  He  is  there  !  The  sorrowing  children  of  the  uni- 
verse are  not  orphans !  Neither  did  Richter  believe  it  ;  well 
might  he  declare  that  with  this  sketch  he  would  '  terrify  himself 
and  vanquish  the  spectre  of  Atheism  1  Oh,  sir  !  the  dear  God 
stretches  his  arm  about  each  and  all  of  us  !  '  When  the  sorrow- 
laden  lays  himself,  with  a  galled  back,  into  the  earth,  to  sleep 
til)  a  fairer  morning/  it  is  not  true  that  '  he  awakens  in  a  stormy 
chaos,  in  an  everlasting  midnight  T  It  is  not  true  !  He  goes 
home  to  his  loved  dead,  and  spends  a  blissful  eternity  in  the  king- 
dom of  Jehovah,  where  death  is  no  more,  '  where  the  wicked 
3ease  from  troubling,  and  the  weary  are  at  rest  1' " 

She  laid  the  volume  on  his  knee,  and  tears  which  would  not  be 
restrained,  rolled  swiftly  over  her  cheeks. 

He  looked  at  her  mournfully,  and  took  her  hand  in  his. 

"My  child,  do  you  believe  all  this  as  heartily  as  you  did 
when  a  little  girl  ?  Is  your  faith  in  your  religion  unshaken  ?" 

He  felt  her  lingers  close  over  his  spasmodically,  as  she  hastily 
replied  : 

"  Of  course,  of  course  !  What  could  shake  a  faith  which 
years  should  strengthen  ?" 

But  the  shiver  which  crept  through  her  frame  denied  hernsser. 
lion,  and  with  a.  keen  pang,  he  saw  the  footprints  of  the 
Destroyer.  She  must  not  know,  however,  that  be  doubted  her 
words,  and  with  an  effort,  he  said  : 

"  I  am  glad,  Beulah  ;  and  if  you  would  continue  to  believe, 
don't  read  my  books  promiscuously.  There  are  many  on  thosi 
shelves  yonder  which  I  would  advise  you  never  to  open.  Bi 
warned  in  time,  my  child." 

She  snatched  her  hand  from  his,  and  answered  proudly  : 

"  Sir,  think  you  I  could  be  satisfied  with  a  creed  which  I  ?onW 


158  BEULAH. 

not  hear  to  have  investigated  ?  If  I  abstained  from  reading 
your  books,  dreading  lest  my  faith  be  shaken,  then  I  could  no 
longer  confide  in  that  faith.  Christianity  has  triumphed  over  tho 
Bubtleties  of  infidelity  for  eighteen  hundred  years  :  what  have  1 
tc  fear  ?" 

"  Beulah,  do  you  want  to  be  just  what  T  am  ?  Without  belief 
hi  any  creed  !  hopeless  of  eternity  as  of  life  1  Do  yon  want  to  b« 
like  me  ?  If  not,  keep  your  hands  off  of  my  books  1  Good  night; 
it  is  time  for  you  to  be  asleep." 

He  motioned  her  away,  and  too  much  pained  to  reply,  she 
uilently  withdrew. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

THE  day  had  been  clear,  though  cold,  and  late  in  the  after- 
noon, Beulah  wrapped  a  shawl  about  her,  and  ran  out  into  tho 
front  yard  for  a  walk.  The  rippling  tones  of  the  fountain  were 
hushed  ;  the  shrubs  were  bare,  and,  outside  the  greenhouse,  not 
a  flower  was  to  be  seen.  Even  the  hardy  chrysanthemums  were 
brown  and  shrivelled.  Here  vegetation  slumbered  in  the  grave 
of  winter.  The  hedges  were  green,  and  occasional  clumps  of 
cassina  bent  their  branches  beneath  the  weight 'of  coral  fruitage 
Tail  poplars  lifted  their  leafless  arms  helplessly  toward  the  sky, 
and  threw  grotesque  shadows  on  the  ground  beneath,  while  the 
wintry  wind  chanted  a  mournful  dirge  through  the  sombre  foli- 
age of  the  aged,  solemn  cedars.  Noisy  flocks  of  r<  bins  fluttered 
among  the  trees,  eating  the  ripe,  red  yupon  berries,  and  now  ana 
then,  parties  of  pigeons  circled  round  and  round  the  house 
Charon  lay  on  the  door-step,  blinking  at  the  setting  sun,  with 
his  sage  face  dropped  on  his  paws.  Afar  off  was  heard  the  hum 
of  the  city;  but  here  all  was  quiet  and  peaceful.  Beulah  looked 
^ver  the  beds,  lately  BO  brilliant  and  fragrant  in  their  wealth  of 


BEULAH.  15S 

flcrai  Deauty  ;  at  the  bare  grey  poplars,  whose  musica  rustling 
had  so  often  hushed  her  to  sleep  in  cloudless  summer  nights,  and 
an  expression  of  serious  thoughtfuluess  settled  on  her  face. 
Many  months  before,  she  had  watched  the  opening  spring  in  this 
Bame  garden.  Had  seen  young  leaves  and- delicate  blossoms  bad 
out  from  naked  stems,  had  noted  their  rich  luxuriance  as  the 
summer  heat  came  on — their  mature  beauty;  and  when  the  first 
breath  of  autumn  sighed  through  the  land,  she  saw  them  flush 
and  decline,  and  gradually  die  and  rustle  down  to  their  graves. 
Now,  where  green  boughs  and  perfumed  petals  had  gaily  looked 
np  in  the  sunlight,  all  was  desolate.  The  piercing  northern 
wind  seemed  to  whisper  as  it  passed,  "  life  is  but  the  germ  of 
death,  and  death  the  development  of  a  higher  life."  Was  the 
cycle  eternal  then  ?  Were  the  beautiful  ephemera  she  had  loved 
BO  dearly  gone  down  into  the  night  of  death,  but  for  a  season, 
to  be  born  again,  in  some  distant  springtime,  mature,  and  . 
return,  as  before,  to  the  charnel-house  ?  Were  the  three  score 
and  ten  years  of  human  life  analogous  ?  Life,  too,  had  its  spring-^ 
time,  its  summer  of  maturity,  its  autumnal  decline,  and  its  wintry 
night  of  death.  Were  the  cold  sleepers  in  the  neighboring 
cemetery  waiting,  like  those  dead  flowers,  for  the  tireless  pro- 
cesses of  nature,  whereby  their  dust  was  to  be  reanimated, 
remolded,  lighted  with  a  soul,  and  set  forward  for  another 
journey  of  three  score  and  ten  years  of  life  and  labor  ?  Men 
lived  and  died  ;  their  ashes  enriched  mother  Earth,  new  creations 
sprang,  phrenix-like,  from  the  sepulchre  of  the  old.  Another 
generation  trod  life's  path  in  the  dim  footprints  of  their  prede- 
cessors, and  that,  too,  vanished  in  the  appointed  process,  min. 
gling  dust  with  dust,  that  Protean  matter  might  hold  the  even 
enor  of  its  way,  in  accordance  with  the  oracular  decrees  of 
Isis.  Was  it  true  that,  since  the  original  Genesis,  "  nothing  had 
been  gained,  and  nothing  lost  ?"  Was  earth,  indeed,  a  mon- 
strous Krouos  ?  If  so,  was  not  she  as  old  as  creation  ?  To  how 
many  other  souls  had  her  body  given  shelter  ?  How  was  hei 
identity  to  be  maintained  ?  True,  she  had  read  that  identity 


160  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

was  noused  in  "  consciousness,"  not  bones  and  muscles  ?  Ben! 
could  there  be  consciousness  without  bones  and  muscles  ?  She 
drew  her  shawl  closely  around  her,  and  looked  up  at  the  cloudiest 
sea  of  azure  The  sun  had  sunk  below  the  horizon  ;  the  birds 
had  all  gone  to  rest ;  Charon  had  sought  the  study  rug  ;  even 
the  distant  hum  of  the  city  was  no  longer  heard.  "  The  silver 
sparks  of  stars  were  rising  on  the  altar  of  the  east,  and  falling 
down  in  the  red  sea  of  the  west."  Beulah  was  chilled  ;  there 
were  cold  thoughts  in  her  mind — icy  spectres  in  her  heart ;  and 
she  quickened  her  pace  np  and  down  the  avenue,  dusky  beneath 
the  ancient  gloomy  cedars.  One  idea  haunted  her  :  aside  from 
revelation,  what  proof  had  she  that  unlike  those  moldering 
flowers,  her  spirit  should  never  die  ?  No  trace  was  to  be  found 
of  the  myriads  of  souls  who  had  preceded  her.  Where  were 
the  countless  hosts  ?  Were  life  and  death  balanced  ?  was  her 
own  soul  chiliads  old,  forgetting  its  former  existences,  save  as  diu», 
undefinable  reminiscences,  flashed  fitfully  upon  it  ?  If  so,  was  it 
a  progression  ?  How  did  she  know  that  her  soul  had  not  en- 
tered her  body  fresh  from  the  release  of  the  hangman,  instead 
of  coming  down  on  angel  wings  from  its  starry  home,  as  she  had 
loved  to  think  ?  A  passage  which  she  had  read  many  weeks 
before  flashed  upon  her  mind  :  "  Upon  the  dead  mother,  in  peace 
and  utter  gloom,  are  reposing  the  dead  children.  After  a  time, 
uprises  the  everlasting  sun  ;  and  the  mother  starts  up  at  the 
summons  of  the  heavenly  dawn,  with  a  resurrection  of  her  an- 
cient bloom.  And  her  children  ? — Yes,  but  they  must  wait 
awhile  I"  This  resurrection  was  springtime,  beckoning  dormant 
beauty  from  the  icy  arms  of  winter  ;  how  long  must  the  children 
wait  for  the  uprising  of  the  morning  star  of  eternity  ?  From 
hiklhood  these  unvoiced  queries  had  perplexed  her  mind,  and, 
trengthening  with  her  growth,  now  cried  out  peremptorily  for 
answers.  With  shuddering  dread,  she  strove  to  stifle  the  spirit 
which,  once  thoroughly  awakened,  threatened  to  explore  every 
nook  and  cranny  of  mystery.  She  longed  to  talk  freely  with 
her  guardian,  regarding  many  of  the  suggestions  which  puzzled 


B  E  r  L  A  H  .  161 

*er;  oat  shrank  instinctively  from  broaching  inch  topics.  Now 
in  her  need,  the  sublime  words  of  Job  came  to  her  :  "  Oh,  that 
my  words  were  now  written  !  oh,  that  they  were  printed  in  a 
book  ;  for  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth,  and  that  he  shall 
stand  at  the  latter  day  upon  the  earth  :  and  though  worms 
destroy  'his  body,  yet  in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God."  Ilandel'i 
'"'  Messiah "  had  invested  this  passage  with  resistless  grandeur, 
and  leaving  the  cold,  dreary  garden,  she  sat  down  before  the 
melodeon  and  sang  a  portion  of  the  Oratorio.  The  sublime 
strains  seemed  to  bear  her  worshipping  soul  up  to  the  presence 
chamber  of  Deity,  and  exultingly  she  repeated  the  concluding 
words  : 

"  For  now  is  Christ  risen  from  the  dead  ; 
The  first-fruits  of  them  that  sleep." 

The  triumph  of  faith  shone  in  her  kindled  eyes,  though  glitter- 
ing drops  fell  on  the  ivory  keys,  and  the  whole  countenance 
bespoke  a  heart  resting  in  the  love  of  the  Father.  While  her  ; 
Gngers  still  rolled  waves  of  melody  through  the  room,  Dr. 
Hartwell  entered,  with  a  parcel  in  one  hand  and  a  magnificent 
cluster  of  greenhouse  flowers  in  the  other.  He  laid  the  lattei 
before  Beulah,  and  said  : 

"  I  want  you  to  go  with  me  to-night  to  hear  Sontag.  The 
concert  commences  at  eight  o'clock,  and  yoa  have  no  time  to 
spare.  Here  are  some  flowers  for  your  hair  ;.  arrange  it  as 
you  have  it  now  ;  and  here,  also,  a  pair  of  white  gloves.  When 
you  are  ready,  come  down  and  make  my  tea." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  for  remembering  me  so  kindly,  and  supply- 
ing all  my  wants  so  " 

"  Bfiulah,  there  are  tears  on  your  lashes.  What  is  the 
Shatter?"  interrupted  the  doctor,  pointing  to  the  drops  which 
had  fallen  on  the  rosewood  frame  of  the  melodeon. 

"  Is  it  not  enough  to  bring  tears  to  my  eyes  when  I  tlank  of 
all  your  kindness?"  She  hurried  awaj  without  suffering  him  t« 
urge  the  matter 


162  BE  TIL  AH. 

The  prospect  of  hearing  Sontag  gave  her  exquisite  pleasure 
and  she  dressed  with  trembling  eagerness,  while  Harriet  leanec 
on  tho  bureau  and  wondered  what  would  happen  next.  Except 
feo  atUrad  church  and  visit  Clara  and  Mrs.  Williams,  Beulah  had 
never  gone  out  before ;  and  the  very  seclusion  in  which  she  lived, 
rendered  this  occasion  one  of  interest  and  importance.  As  she 
tcok  her  cloak  and  ran  down-stairs,  the  young  heart  throbbed 
violently.  Would  her  fastidious  guardian  be  satisfied  with  her 
appearance  ?  She  felt  the  blood  gush  over  her  face  as  she 
entered  the  room;  but  he  did  not  look  at  her,  continued  to  read 
the  newspaper  he  held,  and  said,  from  behind  the  extended  sheet: 

"  I  will  join  you  directly." 

She  poured  out  the  tea  with  an  unsteady  hand.  Dr.  Hartwell 
took  his  silently  ;  and  as  both  rose  from  the  table,  handed  her  a 
paper,  saying  : 

"  The  carriage  is  not  quite  ready,  yet.  Tiiere  is  a  pro- 
gramme." 

(As  she  glanced  over  it,  he  scanned  her  closely,  and  an  expres- 
sion of  satisfaction  settled  on  his  features.  She  wore  a  dark 
blue  silk  (one  he  had  given  her  some  weeks  before),  which 
-  exquisitely  fitted  her  slender,  graceful  figure,  and  was  relieved 
by  a  lace  collar,  fastened  with  a  handsome  cameo  pin,  also  his 
gift.  The  glossy  black  hair  was  brushed  straight  back  from  tho 
face,  in  accordance  with  the  prevailing  style,  and  wound  into  a 
knot  at  the  back  of  the  head.  On  either  side  of  this  knot,  she 
wore  a  superb  white  camellia,  which  contrasted  well  with  the 
raven  hair.  Her  face  was  pale,  but  the  expression  was  one  of 
eager  expectation.  As  the  carriage  rattled  up  to  the  door,  he 
put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  and  said  : 

"  You  look  very  well  to-night,  my  child.  Those  white 
{.\pouicas  becojie  you."  She  breathed  freely  once  more. 

At  the  door  of  tin  concert  hall  he  gave  her  his  arm,  and 
while  the  pressure  of  the  crowd  detained  them  a  moment  at  the 
entrance,  she-  clung  to  him  with  a  feeling  of  dependence  utterly 
oew  to  her.  The  din  of  voices,  the  dazzling  glare  of  the  ga» 


BEULAH.  16S 

lights  bewildered  her,  and  she  walked  on  mechanically,  till  the 
doctor  entered  his  seat,  and  placed  her  beside  him.  The  bril 
liant  chandeliers  shone  down  on  elegant  dresses,  glittering 
diamonds,  and  beautiful  women,  and,  looking  forward,  Beulab 
was  reminded  of  the  glowing  descriptions  in  the  "  Arabiat 
Nights."  She  observed  that  many  curious  eyes  were  bent  upoc 
ber,  and  ere  she  had  been  seated  five  minutes,  more  than  one  lorg- 
nette was  levelled  at  her.  Everybody  knew  Dr.  Hartwell,  and 
she  saw  him  constantly  returning  the  bows  of  recognition  which 
assailed  him  from  the  ladies  in  their  vicinity.  Presently,  he 
leaned  his  head  on  his  hand,  and  she  could  not  forbear  smiling  at 
the  ineffectual  attempts  made  to  arrest  his  attention.  The  hall 
was  crowded,  and  as  the  seats  filled  to  their  utmost  capacity, 
she  was  pressed  against  her  guardian.  He  looked  down  at  her, 
and  whispered  : 

"  Very  democratic.     Eh,  Beulah  ?" 

She  smiled,  and  was  about  to  reply,  when  her  attention  was 
attracted  by  a  party  which  just  then  took  their  places  imme- 
diately in  front  of  her.  It  consisted  of  an  elderly  gentleman  and 
two  ladies,  one  of  whom  Beulah  instantly  recognized  as  Cornelia 
Graham.  She  was  now  a  noble-looking,  rather  than  beautiful 
woman;  and  the  incipient  pride,  so  apparent  in  girlhood,  had 
matured  into  almost  repulsive  hauteur.  She  was  very  richly^, 
dressed,  and  her  brilliant  black  eyes  wandered  indifferently  over 
the  room,  as  though  such  assemblages  had  lost  their  novelty  and 
interest  for  hci  Chancing  to  look  back,  she  perceived  Dr. 
Hartwell,  bowed,  and  said  with  a  smile  : 

"Pray,  do  not  think  me  obstinate  ;  I  had  no  wish  to  come,  but 
father  insisted." 

"  I  am  glad  you  feel  well  enough  to  be  here,"  was  his  carelest 
reply. 

Cornelia's  eyes  fell  upon  the  quiet  figure  at  his  side,  and  AS 
Beulah  met  her  steady  gaze,  she  felt  something  of  her  old  dislike 
warming  in  her  eyes.  They  had  never  met  since  the  morning  of 
Oornelia's  contemptuous  treatment,  at  Madam  St.  Cyraou's  ;  and 


164  BETJLA-H. 

now,  to  Beulah's  utter  astonishment,  she  deliberately  turned 
round,  put  out  her  white-gloved  hand,  over  the  back  of  the  seat, 
and  said,  energetically  : 

"  How  arc  you,  Bculah  ?  You  have  altered  so  materially  that 
SL'arccly  knew  you." 

Beulali's  nature  was  generous  ;  she  was  glad  to  forget  old 
Bjuries,  and  as  their  hands  met  in  a  friendly  clasp,  she  answered 

"  You  have  changed  but  little." 

"  And  that  for  the  worse,  as  people  have  a  pleasant  way  of 
telling  me  Beulah,  I  want  to  know  honestly,  if  my  rudenesa 
caused  you  to  leave  madam's  school  ?" 

"  That  was  not  my  only  reason,"  replied  Beulah,  very  candidly, 

At  this  moment  a  burst  of  applause  greeted  the  appearance  of 
the  cantatricc,  and  all  conversation  was  suspended.  Beulah 
listened  to  the  warbling  of  the  queen  of  song  with  a  thrill  of 
delight.  Passionately  fond  of  music,  she  appreciated  the  bril- 
liant execution,  and  entrancing  melody,  as  probably  very  few  ic. 
that  crowded  house  could  have  done.  With  some  of  the  pieces 
selected  she  was  familiar,  and  others  she  had  long  desired  to 
hear.  She  was  unconscious  of  the  steady  look  with  which  her 
guardian  watched  her,  as  with  parted  lips,  she  leaned  eagerly 
forward  to  catch  every  note.  When  Sontag  left  the  stage,  and 
the  hum  of  conversation  was  heard  once  more,  Beulah  looked  up, 
with  a  long  sigh  of  delight;  and  murmured  : 

"  Oh,  sir  !  isn't  she  a  glorious  woman  ?" 

"  Miss  Graham  is  speaking  to  you,"  said  he,  coolly. 

She  raised  her  head,  and  saw  the  young  lady's  eyes  riveted  on 
icr  countenance. 

"Beulah,  when  did  you  hear  from  Eugene?" 

"About  three  weeks  since,  I  believe." 

"  We  leave,  for  Europe,  day-after-to-morrow  ;  shall,  penapfl, 
£0  directly  to  Ileidelberg.  Have  you  any  commissions  f  any 
messages  ?"  Under  the  mask  of  seeming  indifference,  wh« 
watched  Beulah  intently,  as,  shrinking  from  the  cold,  sean  isia* 
eyes,  the  latter  replied  : 


BEULAH.  16.*- 

**  Th&nk  you,  I  have  neither  to  trouble  yo-a  ivith/ 
Again  the  prima-donna  appeared  on  the  stage,  and  igain 
Beulah  forgot  everything  but  the  witching  strains.  In  the  midsf 
cf  one  of  the  songs,  she  felt  her  guardian  start  violently  ;  and  the 
hand  which  rested  on  his  knee,  was  clinched  spasmodically.  She 
looked  at  him  ;  the  wonted  pale  face  was  flushed  to  the  edge  of 
his  hair  ;  the  blue  veins  stood  out  hard  and  corded  on  his  brow , 
and  tLc  eyes,  like  burning  stars,  were  fixed  on  some  object  not 
very  re  note,  while  he  gnawed  his  lip,  as  if  unconscious  of  what 
he  did.  Following  the  direction  of  his  gaze,  she  saw  that  it  wag 
fastene  I  on  a  gentleman,  who  sat  at  some  little  distance  from 
'hem.  The  position  he  occupied  rendered  his  countenance  visi-  ' 
ble,  and  a  glance  sufficed  to  show  her  that  the  features  were 
handsome,  the  expression  sinister,  malignant  and  cunning.  Hia 
entire  appearance  was  foreign,  and  conveyed  the  idea  of  reckless 
dissipation.  Evidently,  he  came  there,  not  for  the  music,  but  to 
ecan  the  crowd,  and  his  fierce  eyes  roamed  over  the  audience 
with  a  daring  impudence,  which  disgusted  her.  SuddcMily  they 
rested  on  her  own  face,  wandered  to  Dr.  HartwelFs,  and  lingering 
there  a  full  moment,  with  a  look  of  defiant  hatred,  returned  to 
her,  causing  her  to  shudder  at  the  intensity  and  freedom  of  his 
gaze.  She  drew  herself  up  proudly,  and,  with  an  air  of  haughty 
contempt,  fixed  her  attention  on  the  stage.  But  the  spell  of 
enchuntmcut  was  broken  ;  she  could  hear  the  deep,  irregular 
oreathing  of  her  guardian,  and  knew,  from  the  way  in  which  he 
stared  down  on  the  floor,  that  he  could  with  difficulty  remain 
quietly  in  his  place.  She  was  glad  when  the  concert  ended,  and 
the  mass  of  heads  began  to  move  toward  the  door.  With  u 
species  of  curiosity  that  she  could  not  repress,  she  glanced  at  the 
•trauger  ;  their  eyes  met,  as  before,  and  his  smile  of  triumphant 
tteorn  made  her  cling  closer  to  her  guardian's  arm,  and  take  care 
not  to  look  in  that  direction  again.  She  felt  inexpressibly 
relieved  when,  hurried  on  by  the  crowd  in  the  rear,  they  emerged 
from  the  heated  room  into  a  long,  dim  passage  leading  to  th« 
itreet  They  were  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  chattering 


166  B  E  U  L  A  H 

and  while  the  light  was  too  faint  to  distinguish  faces,  thes« 
words  fell  on  her  ear  with  painful  distinctness  :  "  I  suppose  that 
was  Dr.  Harwell's  protegee  he  had  with  him.  He  is  a  great  curi« 
osity.  Think  of  a  man  of  his  age  and  appearance  settling  down  as 
if  he  were  sixty  years  old,  and  adopting  a  beggarly  orphan.  SLe 
is  not  at  all  pretty.  What  can  have  possessed  him  ?" 

"No,  not  pretty,  exactly;  but  there  is  something  odd  in  hci 

appearance.     Her  brow  is  magnificent,  and  I  should  judge  she 

;  was  intellectual.    She  is  as  colorless  as  a  ghost.    No  accounting 

for  Hartwcll;  ten  to  one  he  will  marry  her.     I  have  heard  it 

surmised  that  he  was  educating  her  for  a  wife  " Here  the 

party  who  were  in  advance  vanished,  and  as  he  approached  the 
carriage,  Dr.  Hartwell  said,  coolly: 

"  Another  specimen  of  democracy." 

Beulah  felt  as  if  a  lava  tide  surged  madly  in  her  veins,  and  ad 
the  carriage  rolled  homeward,  she  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands.  Wounded  pride,  indignation,  and  contempt,  straggled 
violently  in  her  heart.  For  some  moments  there  was  silence; 
then  her  guardian  drew  her  hands  from  her  face,  held  them 
firmly  in  his,  and  leaning  forward,  said  gravely: 

"  Beulah,  malice  and  envy  love  lofty  marks.    Learn,  as  I  have 

done,  to  look  down  with  scorn  from  the  summit  of  indifference 

•     upon  the  feeble  darts  aimed  from  the  pits  beneath  you.    My 

child,  don't  suffer  the  senseless  gossip  of  the  shallow  crowd  to 

^  wound  you." 

She  endeavored  to  withdraw  her  hands,  but  his  unyielding 
grasp  prevented  her. 

"  Beulah,  you  must  conquer  your  morbid  sensitiveness,  if  yon 
would  have  your  life  other  than  a  dreary  burden." 

"Oh,  sir!  you  are  not  invulnerable  to  these  wounds;  how, 
then,  can  I,  an  orphan  girl,  receive  them  with  indiffcrer.oe  ?M 
She  spoke  passionately,  and  drooped  her  burning  face  till  it 
touched  his  arm. 

"Ah!  you  observed  my  agitation  to-night.  But  for  a  vow 
aoade  to  my  dying  mother,  that  villain's  blood  had  long  sine? 


BEULAR.  6 

removed  all  grounds  of  emotion.  Six  years  ago,  he  fled  frain 
me,  and  his  unexpected  reappearance  to-night  excited  me  morn 
than  I  had  fancied  it  was  possible  for  anything  to  do."  His 
voice  was  as  low,  calm  and  musical  as  though  he  were  reading 
aloud  to  her  some  poetic  tale  of  injuries;  and  in  the  same  even 
uiet  tone,  he  added: 

"  It  is  well.     All  have  a  Nemesis." 

"  Not  on  earth,  sir." 

"  Wait  till  you  have  lived  as  long  as  I,  and  you  will  thir.k 
frith  me.  Eeulah,  be  careful  how  you  write  to  Eugene  of  Cor- 
nelia Graham;  better  not  mention  her  name  at  all.  If  she  live* 
to  come  home  again,  you  will  understand  me." 

"  Is  not  her  health  good?"  asked  Beulah,  in  surprise. 

"  Far  from  it.  She  has  a  disease  of  the  heart,  which  may  end 
Tier  existence  any  moment.  I  doubt  whether  she  ever  returns  to 
America.  Mind,  I  do  not  wish  yon  to  speak  of  this  to  any  one 
Good  night.  If  you  are  up  in  time  in  the  morning,  I  wish  yon 
would  be  so  good  as  to  cut  some  of  the  choicest  ftowers  in  the 
greenhouse,  and  arrange  a  handsome  bouquet,  before  breakfast 
I  want  to  take  it  to  one  of  my  patients,  an  old  friend  of  mj 
mother." 

They  were  at  home,  and  only  pausing  at  the  door  of  Mra 
Watson's  room  to  tell  the  good  woman  the  "music  was  charm' 
ing,"  Beulah  hastened  to  her  own  apartment.  Throwing  herself 
into  a  chair,  she  recalled  the  incidents  of  the  evening,  and  her 
cheeks  burned  painfully,  as  her  position  in  the  eyes  of  the  world 
was  forced  upon  her  recollection.  Tears  of  mortification  rolled 
over  her  hot  face,  and  her  heart  throbbed  almost  to  suffocation 
She  sank  upon  her  knees,  and  tried  to  pray,  but  sobs  choked 
her  utterance;  and  leaning  her  head  against  the  bed,  she  vrept 
bitterly. 

Ahl  is  there  not  pain,  and  sorrow,  and  evil  enough,  in  this 
fallen  world  of  ours,  that  meddling  gossips  must  needs  poison 
the  few  pure  springs  of  enjoyment  and  peace?  Not  the  hatred 
of  the  Theban  brothers  could  more  thoroughly  accomplish  thil 


168  BEULAH. 

Bendish  design,  than  the  whisper  of  detraction,  the  sueer  ffl 
malice,  or  the  fatal  innuendo  of  envious,  low-bred  tattlers 
iluman  life  is  shielded  by  the  bulwark  of  legal  provisions,  and 
most  earthly  possessions  are  similarly  protected;  but  there  are 
assassins  whom  the  judicial  arm  cannot  reach,  who  infest  society 
in  countless  hordes,  and  while  their  work  of  ruin  and  misery  goes 
ever  on,  there  is  for  the  unhappy  victims  no  redress.  Thy  holy 
precepts,  0,  Christ!  alone  can.  antidote  this  universal  evil. 

Beulah  calmed  the  storm  that  raged  in  her  heart,  and  as  she 
took  the  flowers  from  her  hair,  said  resolutely: 

"  Before  long  I  shall  occupy  a  position  where  there  will  be 
nothing  to  envy,  and  then,  possibly,  I  may  escape  the  gossiping 
rack.  Eugene  may  think  me  a  fool,  if  he  likes;  but  support 
myself  I  will,  if  it  costs  me  my  life.  What  difference  should  it 
"bake  to  him,  so  long  as  I  prefer  it  ?  One  more  year  of  study, 
and  I  shall  be  qualified  for  any  situation;  then  I  can  breathe 
freely.  May  God  shield  me  from  all  harm  I" 


CHAPTER     XVI. 

THAT  year  of  study  rolled  swiftly  away  ;  another  winter  cams 
end  passed  ;  another  spring  hung  its  verdant  drapery  over 
earth,  and  now  ardent  summer  reigned  once  more.  It  was  near 
the  noon  of  a  starry  July  night  that  Beulah  sat  in  her  own  room 
beside  her  writing-desk.  A  manuscript  lay  Vefore  her,  yet  damp 
with  ink,  and  as  she  traced  the  concluding  words,  and  threw 
do7/n  her  per.,  a  triumphant  smile  flashed  over  her  face.  To- 
morrow the  session  of  the  public  scuool  would  close,  with  au 
examination  of  its  pupils  ;  to-morrow  she  would  graduate,  and 
deliver  the  valedictory  to  the  graduating  class.  She  had  jasi 
frnUhed  copying  her  address,  and  placing  it  carefully  in  the  desk, 
rose  and  leaned  against  the  window,  that  the  cool  night  cii 


BEULAH.  16i> 

might  fan  her  fevered  brow.  The  hot  blood  beat  heavily  iu  her 
temples,  and  fled  with  arrowy  swiftness  through  her  veins.  Con- 
tinued mental  excitement,  like  another  Shylock,  peremptorily 
exacted  its  debt,  and  as  she  looked  out  on  the  solemn  beauty 
of  the  night,  instead  of  soothing,  it  seemed  to  mock  her  restless- 
ness. Dr.  Hartwell  had  been  absent  since  noon,  but  now  sl.o 
detected  the  whir  of  wheels  in  the  direction  of  the  carriage-house, 
and  knew  that  he  was  in  the  study.  She  heard  him  throw 
open  the  shutters,  and  speak  to  Charon,  and  gathering  up 
her  hair,  which  hung  loosely  about  her  shoulders,  she  confined 
it  with  a  comb,  and  glided  noiselessly  down  the  steps.  The  lamp- 
light gleamed  through  the  open  door,  and  pausing  on  the  thresh- 
old, she  asked  : 

"May  I  come  in  for  a  few  minutes,  or  are  you  too  much 
fatigued  to  talk  ?" 

"  Beulah,  I  positively  forbade  your  sitting  up  this  late.  It  ia 
midnight,  child  ;  go  to  bed."  He  held  some  papers,  and  spoke 
without  even  glancing  toward  her. 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  but  I  want  to  ask  you  something  before  I 
sleep." 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  Still  he  did  not  look  up  from  hit 
papers. 

"  Will  you  attend  the  exercises  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Is  it  a  matter  of  any  consequence  whether  I  do  or  not  V 

"  To  me,  sir,  it  certainly  is." 

"  Child,  I  shall  not  have  leisure." 

"Be  honest,  and  say  that  you  have  not  sufficient  interest," 
cried  she,  passionately. 

He  smiled,  and  answered  placidly  : 

"  Good  night,  Beulah.  You  should  have  been  asieep  long 
ago."  Eer  lips  quivered,  and  she  lingered,  loth  to  leave  him  in 
PO  unfriendly  a  mood.  Suddenly  he  raised  his  head,  looked  at 
her  steadily,  and  said  : 

"  Have  you  sent  in  your  name  as  an  applicant  for  a  &itu> 
tion  ?" 

8 


170  BKULAH 

"I  Lave." 

"  Good  night."  His  tone  wa?  stern,  and  she  immediately  re 
treated.  Unable  to  sleep,  she  passed  the  remaining  hours  of  th« 
short  night  in  pacing  the  floor,  or  watching  the  clock-work  of 
stars  point  to  the  coming  dawn.  Though  not  quite  eighteen,  her 
face  was  prematurely  grave  and  thoughtful,  and  its  restless,  un- 
satisfied expression  plainly  discovered  a  perturbed  state  of  mind 
and  heart.  The  time  had  come  when  she  must  go  out  into  the 
world,  and  depend  only  upon  herself  ;  and  though  she  was  anx- 
ious to  commence  the  work  she  bad  assigned  herself,  she  shrank 
from  the  thought  of  quitting  her  guardian's  home  and  thus  losing 
the  only  companionship  she  really  prized.  He  had  not  sought 
to  dissuade  her  ;  had  appeared  perfectly  indifferent  to  her  plans, 
and  this  unconcern  had  wounded  her  deeply.  To-morrow  would 
decide  her  election  as  teacher,  and  as  the  committee  would  be 
present  at  her  examination  (which  was  to  be  more  than  usually 
minute  in  view  of  her  application),  she  looked  forward  impatiently 
«o  this  occasion.  Morning  dawned,  and  she  hailed  it  gladly; 
breakfast  came,  and  she  took  hers  alone  ;  the  doctor  had  already- 
gone  out  for  the  day.  This  was  not  an  unusual  occurrence,  yet 
this  morning  she  noted  it  particularly.  At  ten  o'clock  the  Aca- 
demy was  crowded  with  visitors,  and  the  commissioners  and 
teachers  were  formidably  arrayed  on  the  platform  raised  for  this 
purpose  The  examination  began  ;  Greek  and  Latin  classes  were 
carefully  questioned,  and  called  on  to  parse  and  scan  to  a  tire- 
some extent  ;  then  came  mathematical  demonstrations.  Every 
conceivable  variety  of  lines  and  angles  adorned  the  black-boards; 
and  next  in  succession  were  classes  in  rhetoric  and  natural  his- 
tory. There  was  a  tediousness  in  the  examinations  incident  to 
Buch  occasions,  and  as  repeated  inquiries  were  propounded, 
Beulah  rejoiced  at  the  prospect  of  release.  Finally  the  commis- 
sioners declared  themselves  quite  satisfied  with  the  proficiency 
attained,  and  the  graduating  class  read  the  compositions  for  the 
day.  At  length,  at  a  sfgnal  from  the  superintendent  of  the 
department,  Beulah  ascended  the  platform,  and  surrounded  bj 


BEULAH-  171 

men  signalized  by  scholarship  and  veneralle  from  age,  she  began 
tar  address.  She  wore  a  white  mull  muslin,  and  her  glossy 
black  hair  was  arranged  with  the  severe  simplicity  which  charac- 
terized her  style  of  dress.  Her  face  was  well-nigh  as  colorless  aa 
the  paper  she  held,  and  her  voice  faltered  with  the  first  few  sen 
fences. 

The  theme  was  "  Female  Heroism ,''  and  as  she  sought  among 
the  dusky  annals  of  the  past  for  instances  in  confirmation  of  her 
predicate,  that  female  intellect  was  capable  of  the  most  exalted 
attainments,  and  that  the  elements  of  her  character  would  enable 
woman  to  cope  successfully  with  difficulties  of  every  class,  hei 
voice  grew  clear,  firm  and  deep.  Quitting  the  fertile  fields  of  \ 
history,  she  painted  the  trials  which  hedge  woman's  path,  and 
with  unerring  skill  defined  her  peculiar  sphere,  her  true  position. 
The  reasoning  was  singularly  forcible,  the  imagery  glowing  and 
gorgeous,  and  occasional  passages  of  exquisite  pathos  drew  tear* 
from  her  fascinated  audience  ;  while  more  than  once,  a  beautiful 
burst  of  enthusiasm  was  received  with  flattering  applause. 
Instead  of  flushing,  her  face  grew  paler,  and  the  large  eyes  were 
full  of  lambent  light,  which  seemed  to  flash  out  from  her  soul. 
In  conclusion,  she  bade  adieu  to  the  honored  halls  where  her  feet 
had  sought  the  paths  of  knowledge  ;  paid  a  just  and  gratefu. 
tribute  to  the  Institution  of  Public  Schools,  and  to  the  Commit* 
sioners  through  whose  agency  she  had  been  enabled  to  enjoy  so 
many  privileges  ;  and  turning  to  her  fellow-graduates,  touchingly 
reminded  them  of  the  happy  past,  and  warned  of  the  shrouded 
future.  Crumpling  the  paper  in  one  hand,  she  extended  the 
other  toward  her  companions,  and  in  thrilling  accents  conjured 
them,  in  any  and  every  emergency,  to  prove  themselves  true  » 
women  of  America — ornaments  of  the  social  circle,  angel  guard- 
ana  of  the  sacred  hearthstone,  ministering  spirits  where  suffering 
hud  want  demanded  succor.  Women  qualified  to  assist  in  a 
o)uncil  of  statesmen,  if  dire  necessity  ever  required  it ;  while,  in 
whatever  positions  they  might  be  placed,  their  examples  should 
remain  imperishable  monuments  of  true  female  heroism  As  th« 


172  BEULAH. 

last  words  passed  her  lips,  she  glanced  swiftly  over  the  sea  ot 
heads,  and  perceived  her  guardian  leaning  with  folded  armi 
against  a  pillar,  while  his  luminous  eyes  were  fastened  on  hei 
face.  A  flash  of  joy  irradiated  her  countenance,  and  bending 
ber  head  amid  the  applause  of  the  assembly,  she  retiitd  to  hor 
sent.  She  felt  that  her  triumph  was  complete  ;  the  whispered, 
vet  audible  inquiries  regarding  her  name,  the  admiring,  curious 
glances  directed  toward  her,  were  not  necessary  to  assure  her  of 
success  ;  and  when,  immediately  after  the  diplomas  were  distri- 
buted, she  rose  and  received  hers  with  the  calm  look  of  one  who 
has^t  oiled  long  for  some  meed,  and  puts  forth  her  hand  for  what 
she  is  conscious  of  having  deserved.  The  crowd  slowly  dis- 
persed, and  beckoned  forward  once  more,  Beulah  confronted  the 
august  committee  whose  prerogative  it  was  to  elect  teachers.  A 
certificate  was  handed  her,  and  the  chairman  informed  her  of 
her  election  to  a  vacant  post  in  the  Intermediate  Department. 
The  salary  was  six  hundred  dollars,  to  be  paid  monthly,  and  her 
duties  would  commence  with  the  opening  of  the  next  session, 
after  two  months'  vacation.  In  addition,  he  congratulated  her 
warmly  on  the  success  of  her  valedictory  effort,  and  suggested 
the  propriety  of  cultivating  talents  which  might  achieve  for  her 
an  enviable  distinction.  She  bowed  in  silence,  and  turned  away 
to  collect  uer  books.  Her  guardian  approached,  and  said  in  a 
low  voice  : 

"  Put  on  your  bonnet,  and  come  down  to  the  side  gate.  It  is 
too  warm  for  you  to  walk  home." 

Without  waiting  for  her  answer,  he  descended  the  steps,  and 
sde  was  soon  seated  beside  him  in  the  buggy.  The  short  ride 
was  silent,  and  on  reaching  home,  Beulah  would  have  gone 
immediately  to  her  room,  but  the  doctor  called  her  into  the 
Study,  and  as  he  rang  the  bell,  said  gently : 

"  You  look  very  much  exhausted  ;  rest  here,  while  I  order  » 
glass  of  wine." 

It  was  speedily  brought,  and  having  iced  it,  he  held  it  to  her 
white  lips.  She  drank  the  contents,  and  her  head  sank  011  th« 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  173 

gofa  cn§,hbns.  The  fever  of  excitement  was  over,  a  feeling  of 
lassitude  stole  over  her,  and  she  soon  lost  all  consciousness  in  a 
heavy  sleep.  The  sun  was  just  setting  as  she  awakened  from 
her  slumber,  and  sitting  up,  she  soon  recalled  the  events  of  the 
day.  The  evening  breeze,  laden  with  perfume,  stole  in  refresh- 
ingly through  the  bJ'nds,  and  as  the^snnset  pageant  faded,  and 
darkness  crept  on,  she  remained  on  the  sofa,  pondering  her 
future  course.  The  lamp  and  her  guardian  made  their  appear- 
ance at  the  same  moment,  and  throwing  himself  down  in  one 
.•Corner  of  the  sofa,  the  latter  asked  : 

"  How  are  you  since  your  nap  ?     A  trifle  less  ghastly,  I  see." 

"  Much  better,  thank  you,  sir.    My  head  is  quite  clear  again." 

"  Clear  enough  to  make  out  a  foreign  letter  ?"  He  took  one 
from  his  pocket  and  put  it  in  her  hand. 

An  anxious  look  flitted  across  her  face,  and  she  glanced 
rapidly  over  the  contents,  then  crumpled  the  sheet  nervously  in 
her  fingers. 

"  What  is  the  matter  now  ?" 

"  He  is  coming  home.  Thtj  will  all  be  here  in  November." 
SUe  spoke  as  if  bitterly  chagrined  and  disappointed. 

•'  Most  people  would  consider  that  joyful  news,"  said  the 
doctor,  qJetly. 

"  What !  after  spending  more  than  five  years  (one  of  them  in 
travelling),  to  come  back  without  having  acquired  a  profession, 
and  settle  down  into  a  mere  walking  ledger  !  To  have  princely 
advantages  at  his  command,  and  yet  throw  them  madly  to  the 
winds,  and  be  content  to  plod  along  the  road  of  mercantile  life, 
without  one  spark  of  ambition,  when  his  mental  endowments 
would  justify  his  aspiring  to  the  most  exalted  political  stations  in 
»iie  land." 

Ik-r  voice  trembled  from  intensity  of  feeling. 

"  Take  care  how  you  disparage  mercantile  pursuits  ;  some  of 
the  most  masterly  minds  of  the  age  were  nurtured  in  the  midsi 
»f  ledgers." 

"  Atd  I  honor  and  reverence  all  such  far  more  than  theil 


174  BEULAH. 

colleagues,  whose  wisdom  was  culled  iu  classic  academic  balls 
for  the  former,  struggling  amid  adverse  circumstances,  nsad« 
good  their  claim  to  an  exalted  place  in  the  temple  of  Famo 
.  But  necessity  forced  them  to  purely  mercantile  pursuits.  Eugene'* 
ease  is  by  no  means  analogous  ;  situated  as  he  is,  he  could  be 
just  what  he  chose.  I  honor  all  men  who  do  their  duty  nobl) 
•  and  truly  in  the  positions  fate  has  assigned  them  ;  but,  sir,  yon 
1  know  there  are  some  more  richly  endowed  than  others,  some 
I  whom  nature  seems  to  have  destined  for  arduous  diplomatic 
posts  ;  whose  privilege  it  is  to  guide  the  helm  of  state,  and 
achieve  distinction  as  men  of  genius.  To  such  tlte  call  will  be 
imperative  ;  America  needs  such  men.  Heaven  only  knows 
where  they  are  to  rise  from,  when  the  call  is  made  1  I  do  not 
mean  to  disparage  mercantile  pursuits  ;  they  afford  constant 
opportunities  for  the  exercise  and  display  of  keenness  and  clear- 
ness of  intellect,  but  do  not  require  the  peculiar  gifts  so  esseu- 
tial  in  statesmen.  Indolence  is  unpardonable  in  any  avocation, 
and  I  would  be  commended  to  the  industrious,  energetic  mer- 
chant, in  preference  to  superficial,  so-called,  'professional  men.' 
But  Eugene  had  rare  educational  advantages,  and  I  expected 
him  to  improve  them,  and  be  something  more  than  ordinary.  He 
expected  it,  five  years  ago.  What  infatuation  possesses  him 
latterly,  I  cannot  imagine." 

Dr.  Hartwell  smiled,  and  said,  very  quietly  :  "  Has  it  ever 
occurred  to  you  that  you  might  have  over-estimated  Eugene's 
abilities  ?" 

"  Sir,  you  entertained  a  flattering  opinion  of  them  when  he  left 
here."  She  could  animadvert  upon  his  fickleness,  but  did  not 
tnoose  that  others  should  enjoy  the  same  privilege. 

"  1  by  no  means  considered  him  an  embryo  Webster,  or 
Calhoan ;  never  looked  on  him  as  an  intellectual  prodigy.  He  had 
ft  good  mind,  a  handsome  face,  and  frank,  gentlemanly  manners 
which,  in  the  aggregate,  impressed  me  favorably."  Beulah  oit 
ber  lips,  and  stooped  to  pat  Charon's  head.  There  was  silea:* 
tor  some  moments,  and  then  the  doctor  asked  •. 


B  E  C  L  A  H  .  17f. 

"  Does  he  mention  Cornelia's  health  V 

"  Only  once,  incidentally.  I  judge  from  the  sentence,  that  she 
IK  rather  feeble.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  unimportant  chat  about 
a  lady  they  have  met  in  Florence.  She  is  the  daughter  of  a 
Louisiana  planter;  very  beautiful  and  fascinating;  is  a  niece  of 
Mrs.  Graham's,  and  will  spend  part  of  next  winter  with  the 
Grahams." 

"  What  is  her  name  ?" 

"  Antoinette  Duprcs." 

Beulah  was  still  caressing  Charon,  and  did  not  observe  the 
purplish  glow  which  bathed  the  doctor's  face  at  the  mention  of 
the  name.  She  only  saw  that  he  rose  abruptly,  and  walked  to 
the  window,  where  he  stood  until  tea  was  brought  in.  As  they 
concluded  the  meal,  and  left  the  table,  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Beulah,  I  congratulate  you  gn  your  signal  success  to-day. 
Your  valedictory  made  me  proud  of  my  protdgee."  She  had  put 
her  hand  in  his,  and  looked  up  in  his  face,  but  the  cloudy  spleu 
dor  of  the  eyes  was  more  than  she  could  bear,  and  drooping  fief 
head  a  little,  she  answered  . 

"Thank  you." 

"  Yon  have  vacation  for  two  months  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  then  my  duties  commence.  Here  is  the  certi- 
ficate of  my  election."  She  offered  it  for  inspection,  but  without 
noticing  it,  he  continued  : 

"  Beulah,  I  think  you  owe  me  something  for  taking  care  of 
you,  as  you  phrased  it  long  ago.  at  the  Asylum.  Do  you  admit 
the  debt  ?" 

"  Most  gratefully,  sir  1  I  admit  that  I  can  never  liquidate  it; 
1  san  repay  you  only  with  the  most  earnest  gratitude."  Large 
K-ars  hung  upon  her  lashes,  and  with  an  uncontrollable  impulse, 
ihe  rwsed  his  hand  to  her  lips. 

11 1  am  about  to  test  the  sincerity  of  your  gratitude.  I  doubt 
It." 

She  trembled,  and  looked  at  him  uneasily.  He  laid  his  hand 
•»•  her  shoulder,  and  said,  slowly  : 


176  BEULAB. 

"  Relinquish  the  idea  of  teaching.  Let  me  present  you  t« 
society  as  my  adopted  child.  Thus  you  can  requ.te  the  debt." 

"  I  cannot !  I  cannot  1"  cried  Beulah,  firmly,  though  teari, 
gushed  over  her  cheeks. 

"Cannot?  cannot?"  repeated  the  doctor,  pressing  heaviij 
upon  her  shoulders. 

"  Will  not,  then  I"  said  she,  proudly. 

They  looked  at  each  other  steadily.  A  withering  smile  of 
«corn  and  bitterness  distorted  his  Apollo-like  features,  and  hs 
pushed  her  from  him,  saying,  in  the  deep,  concentrated  tone  of 
intense  disappointment : 

"  I  might  have  known  it.  I  might  have  expected  it ;  for  fatfi 
nas  always  decreed  me  just  such  returns." 

Leaning  against  the  sculptured  Niobe,  which  stood  near, 
Bf'ilah  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of  great  anguish 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Hartwell  1  do  not  make  me  repent  the  day  I  entered 
this  house.  God  knows  I  am  grateful,  very  grateful,  for  your 
unparalleled  kindness.  Oh,  that  it  were  in  my  power  to  prove 
to  you  my  gratitude  I  Do  not  upbraid  me.  You  knew  that  I 
came  here  only  to  be  educated.  Even  then  I  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  always  imposing  on  your  generosity;  and  every  day 
that  passed  strengthened  this  impatience  of  dependence.  Through 
your  kindness,  it  is  now  in  my  power  to  maintain  myself,  and 
after  the  opening  of  next  session,  I  cannot  remain  any  longer  the 
recipient  of  your  bounty.  Oh,  sir,  do  not  charge  me  with  ingra- 
titude !  It  is  more  than  I  can  bear  ;  more  than  I  can  bear  !" 

"  Mark  me,  Beulah  !  Your  pride  will  wreck  you  ;  wreck  your 
happiness,  your  peace  of  mind.  Already  its  iron  hand  is  crushing 
your  young  heart.  Beware,  lest,  in  yielding  to  its  decrees,  you 
become  the  hopeless  being  a  similar  course  has  rendered  me 
Beware  !  But  why  should  I  warn  you  ?  Have  not  my  prophe- 
tiss  ever  proved  Cassandvan  ?  Leave  me." 

"  No,  I  will  not  leave  you  in  anger."  She  drew  near  him, 
and  took  his  hand  ir»  both  hers.  The  fingers  were  ccld  antf 
white  as  marble,  rigid  and  inflexible  as  steel. 


BEULAH.  171 

M?  gnsrdian,  would  you  have  me  take  a  step  (tarougl  feai 
of  your  displeasure1!,  which  would  render  my  life  a  burden  ?  WiE 
j-nu  urge  me  to  remain,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  cannot  be  liMppy 
hern  ?  I  think  not." 

"  Urge  you  to  remain  ?  By  the  Furies,  no.  I  urge  you  to 
g :!  Yes,  go!  I  no  longer  want  you  here.  Your  presence  would 
Irritate  me  beyond  measure.  But  listen  to  me:  I  am  going  to 
New  York  on  business;  had  intended  taking  you  with  me;  but 
since  you  are  so  stubbornly  proud,  I  can  consent  to  leave  you. 
I  shall  start  to-morrow  evening — rather  earlier  than  I  expected 
— and  shall  not  return  before  September,  perhaps  even  late'' 
What  your  plans  are,  I  shall  not  inquire,  but  it  is  iny  reque«* 
that  you  remain  in  this  house,  under  Mrs.  Watson's  care,  until 
your  school  duties  commence;  then  you  will,  I  suppose,  remove 
elsewhere.  I  also  request,  particularly,  that  you  will  not  hesitate 
to  use  the  contents  of  a  purse,  which  I  shall  leave  on  my  desk  for 
you.  Remember  that  in  coming  years,  when  trials  assail  you,  if 
you  need  a  friend,  I  will  still  assist  you.  You  will  leave  me  now, 
if  you  please,  as  I  have  some  letters  to  write."  He  motioned  her 
away,  and,  unable  to  frame  any  reply,  she  left  the  room. 

Though  utterly  miserable,  now  that  her  guardian  seemed  so 
completely  estranged,  her  proud  nature  rebelled  at  his  stern  dis- 
missal, and  a  feeling  of  reckless  defiance  speedily  dried  the  tears 
on  her  cheek.  That  he  should  look  down  upon  her  with  scornful 
indifference,  stung  her  almost  to  desperation,  and  she  resolved 
instead  of  weeping,  to  meet  and  part  with  him  as  coldly  as  hia 
contemptuous  treatment  justified.  Weary  in  mind  and  body, 
she  fell  asleep,  and  soon  forgot  all  her  plans  aud  sorrows.  The 
inn  was  high  in  the  heavens  when  Harriet  waked  her,  and  start- 
Kg  up,  she  asked: 

"  What  time  is  it  ?     How  came  I  to  sleep  so  late  P' 

"It  is  eight  o'clock.     Master  ate   breakfast  an   hour  ago. 

Look  here,  child;  what  is  to  pay  ?     Master  is  going  off  to  th« 

>forth,  to  be  gone  till  October.     He  sat  up  all  nigh ;,  writing; 

w-d  giving  orders  about  things  on  the  place,  'specially  the  gr*eu 

8* 


1  78  B  E  IT  L  A  n 

house,  and  the  flower  seeds  to  be  saved  ir.  the  front  yard  Hi 
has  not  been  in  such  a  way  since  seven  years  ago.  What  is  hi 
the  wind  now  ?  What  ails  him  ?"  Harriet  sat  with  her  elbows 
on  her  knees,  and  her  wrinkled  face  resting  in  the  palms  of  her 
hands.  She  looked  puzzled  aud  discontented. 

"  He  told  me  last  night  that  he  expected  to  leave  home  thij 
nrening;  that  he  was  going  to  New  York  on  business."  Beulah 
affected  indifference;  but  the  searching  eyes  of  the  old  woman 
were  fixed  on  her,  and  as  she  turned  away,  Harriet  exclaimed: 

"  Going  this  evening!  Why,  child,  he  has  gone.  Told  us  all 
good  bye,  from  Mrs.  Watson  down  to  Charon.  Said  his  trunk 
must  be  sent  down  to  the  wharf  at  three  o'clock;  that  he  would 
not  have  time  to  come  home  again.  There,  good  gracious  1  you 
are  as  white  as  a  sheet ;  I  will  fetch  you  some  wine."  She 
hurried  out,  and  Beulah  sank  into  a  chair,  stunned  by  the  intel- 
ligence. 

When  Harriet  proffered  a  glass  of  cordial,  she  declined  it,  and 
said  composedly: 

"  I  will  come,  after  a  while,  and  take  my  breakfast.  There  is 
no  accounting  for  your  master's  movements.  I  would  as  soon 
engage  to  keep  up  with  a  comet.  There,  let  go  my  dress;  I  am. 
going  into  the  study  for  a  while."  She  went  slowly  down  the 
steps,  and  locking  the  door  of  the  study  to  prevent  intrusion, 
looked  around  the  room.  There  was  an  air  of  confusion,  as 
though  books  aud  chairs  had  been  hastily  moved  about.  On  the 
floor  lay  numerous  shreds  of  crape,  and  glancing  up,  she  saw, 
with  surprise,  that  the  portrait  had  been  closely  wrapped  in  a 
Bheet,  and  suspended  with  the  face  to  the  wall.  Instantly,  an 
uncontrollable  desire  seized  her  to  look  at  that  face.  She  had 
always  supposed  it  to  be  his  wife's  likeness,  and  longed  to  gasK 
fcpon  the  features  of  one  whose  name  her  husband  had  ne^ei 
DKttitioned.  The  mantel  was  low,  and  standing  on  a  chair,  she 
endeavored  to  catch  the  cord  which  supported  the  frame;  but  it 
hang  too  high.  She  stood  on  the  marble  mantel,  and  stretched 
Usr  hands  eagerly  up;  but  though  her  fingers  touched  the  eord 


BEULAH. 


171 


•he  conld  not  disengage  it  from  the  hook,  and  with  a  seusatioi 
of  keen  disappointment,  she  was  forced  to  abandon  the  attempt 
A  note  on  the  desk  attracted  her  attention  ;  it  was  directed  t« 
her,  and  contained  only  a  few  words : 

"  Accompanying  this  is  a  purae  containing  a  hundred  dollars.  In  axf 
tmergency  which  the  future  may  present,  do  not  hesitate  to  call  on 

"YOUR   GCABDIAM." 

She  laid  her  head  down  on  his  desk,  and  sobbed  bitterly 
For  the  first  time  she  realized  that  he  had,  indeed,  gone — gone 
without  one  word  of  adieu;  one  look  of  kindness  or  reconciliation. 
Her  tortured  heart  whispered:  "  Write  him  a  note;  ask  him  to 
come  home;  tell  him  you  will  not  leave  his  house."  But  pride 
answered:  "He  is  a  tyrant;  don't  be  grieved  at  his  indiffer- 
ence; he  is  nothing  to  you;  go  to  work  boldly,  and  repay  the 
money  you  have  cost  him."  Once  more,  as  in  former  years,  a 
feeling  of  desolation  crept  over  her.  She  had  rejected  her  guar- 
dian's request,  and  isolated  herself  from  sympathy ;  for  who 
would  assist  and  sympathize  with  her  mental  difficulties  as  he 
bad  done  ?  The  tears  froze  in  her  eyes,  and  she  sat  for  some 
time  looking  at  the  crumpled  note.  Gradually,  an  expression 
of  proud  defiance  settled  on  her  features;  she  took  the  purse, 
walked  up  to  her  room,  and  put  on  her  bonnet  and  mantle. 
Descending  to  the  breakfast-room,  she  drank  a  cup  of  coffee, 
and  telling  Mrs.  Watson  she  would  be  absent  an  hour  or  two, 
lef ,  the  house,  and  proceeded  to  Madam  St.  Cymon's.  She  asked 
io  see  Miss  Sanders,  and  after  waiting  a  few  minutes  in  the 
pailor,  Clara  made  her  appearance.  She  looked  wan  and  weary, 
but  greeted  her  friend  with  a  gentle  smile. 

"  I  heard  of  your  triumph  yesterday,  Beulah,  and  most  sin- 
cerely congratulate  you." 

"  I  am  in  no  mood  for  congratulations  just  now.  Clara,  did 
ttot  you  tell  me,  a  few  days  since,  that  the  music  teacher  of  thU 
establishment  was  ill,  and  that  Madam  St.  Cymon  was  anziooi 
to  procure  another  P1 


180 


BEULAH. 


"  Yes,  I  have  no  idea  she  will  ever  be  well  again.  If  strong 
eiiongh,  she  is  going  back  to  her  family,  in  Philadelphia,  next 
week.  VThy  do  you  ask  ?" 

"  I  want  to  get  the  situation,  and  wish  you  would  say  tc 
madam  that  I  have  called  to  see  her  about  it.  I  will  wait  her* 
till  you  speak  to  her." 

"Beulah,  are  you  mad?  Dr.  Hartwell  never  will  consent  to 
your  teaching  music,"  cried  Clara,  with  astonishment  written  on 
every  feature. 

"  Dr.  Hartwell  is  not  my  master,  Clara  Sanders  !  Will  you 
ipeak  to  madam,  or  shall  I  have  to  do  it  ?" 

"  Certainly,  I  will  speak  to  her.  But  oh,  Beulah  1  are  you 
wild  enough  to  leave  your  present  home  for  such  a  life  ?" 

"  I  have  been  elected  a  teacher  in  the  public  schools,  but  shall 
have  nothing  to  do  until  the  first  of  October.  In  the  meantime 
I  intend  to  give  music  lessons.  If  madam  will  employ  me  for 
two  months,  she  may  be  able  to  procure  a  professor  by  the  open- 
ing of  the  next  term.  And  further,  if  I  can  make  this  arrange 
ment,  I  am  coming  immediately  to  board  with  Mrs.  Hoyt.  Now 
speak  to  madam  for  me,  will  you  ?" 

"  One  moment  more.     Does  the  doctor  know  of  all  this  ?" 

"He  knows  that  I  intend  to  teach  in  the  public  school.  He 
goes,  lo  New  York  this  afternoon." 

Clara  looked  at  her  mournfully,  and  said,  with  sad  emphasis  «• 

"  Oh,  Beuiah  !  you  may  live  to  rue  your  rashness." 

To  Madam  St.  Cymon,  the  proposal  was  singularly  opportune, 
and  hastening  to  meet  the  applicant,  she  expressed  much  plea- 
bure  at  seeing  Miss  Benton  again.  She  was  very  anxious  to 
procure  a  teacher  for  the  young  ladies  boarding  with  her,  and 
[or  her  own  daughters,  and  the  limited  engagement  would  suit 
rery  well.  She  desired,  however,  to  hear  Miss  Benton  perform. 
Bculah  took  off  her  gloves,  and  played  several  very  difficult 
[lioces,  with  the  ease  which  only  constant  practice  and  skillful 
training  can  confer.  Madam  declared  herself  more  than  satisfied 
with  her  proficiency,  and  requesieu  uer  to  commence  her  instruo 


BEFLAI  181 

tions  on  the  following  day.  She  had  given  t  le  former  tcachci 
six  hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  would  allow  Miss  Ben  ton  eighty 
dollars  for  the  two  months.  Beulah  was  agreeably  surprised  at 
ihe  ample  remuneration,  and  having  arranged  the  hours  of  her 
uttcudance  at  the  school,  she  took  leave  of  the  principal.  Clari 
ailed  to  her  as  she  reached  the  street  ;  and  assuming  a  gaietj 
which,  jast  then,  was  very  foreign  to  her  real  feelings,  Beulub 
answered  : 

"  It  is  all  arranged.  I  shall  take  tea  with  you  in  my  new 
home,  provided  Mrs.  Eoyt  can  give  me  a  room."  She  kissed  her 
nand,  and  hurried  away.  Mrs.  Hoyt  found  no  difficulty  in  pro- 
viding a  room  ;  and,  to  Beulah's  great  joy,  managed  to  have  a 
vacant  one  adjoining  Clara's.  She  was  a  gentle,  warm-hearted 
woman  ;  and  as  Beulah  examined  the  apartment,  and  inquired 
the  terms,  she  hesitated,  and  said  : 

"  My  terms  are  thirty  dollars  a  month  ;  but  you  are  poor,  1 
judge,  and  being  Miss  Clara's  friend,  I  will  only  charge  you 
*wenty-five." 

"  I  do  not  wish  you  to  make  any  deduction  in  my  favor.  I 
will  take  the  room  at  thirty  dollars,"  answered  Beulah,  rather 
haughtily. 

"  Very  well.    When  will  you  want  it  ?" 

"  Immediately.  Be  kind  enough  to  have  it  in  readiness  for 
me ;  I  shall  come  this  afternoon.  Could  you  give  me  sotuo 
window-curtains  ?  I  should  like  it  better,  if  you  could  do  so 
without  much  inconvenience." 

"  Oh,  certainly  !  they  were  taken  down  yesterday  to  be  washed 
Everything  shall  be  in  order  for  you." 

It  was  too  warm  to  walk  home  again,  and  Beulah  called  a 
Carriage..  The  driver  had  not  proceeded  far,  when  a  press  of 
vehicles  forced  him  to  pause  a  few  minutes.  They  happened  tc 
ptand  near  the  post-office,  and  as  Beulah  glanced  at  the  eager 
crowd  collected  in  front,  she  started  violently  on  perceiving  het 
guardian.  He  stood  on  the  corner,  talking  to  a  gentleman  of 
»enerable  aspect,  and  she  saw  that  he  looked  harassed.  She  wai 


1  82  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

powerfully  impelled  to  beckon  him  to  her,  and  at  least  :biain  t 
I  friendly  adieu,  but  again  pride  prevailed.  He  had  deliberately 
left  her,  without  saying  good  bye,  and  she  would  not  force  her- 
Belf  on  his  notice.  Even  as  she  dropped  her  veil  to  avoid  obser- 
vation, the  carriage  rolled  on,  and  she  was  soon  at  Dr.  Hartwell's 
door.  Unwilling  to  reflect  on  the  steps  she  had  taken,  she  busied 
herself  in  packing  her  clothes  and  books.  On  every  side  were 
tokens  of  her  guardian's  constant  interest  and  remembrance  ; 
pictures,  vases,  and  all  the  elegant  appendages  of  a  writing-desk. 
At  length  the  last  book  was  stowed  away,  and  nothing  else 
remained  to  engage  her.  The  beautiful  little  Nuremberg  clock 
on  the  mantel  struck  two,  and  looking  up,  she  saw  the  solemn 
face  of  Harriet,  who  was  standing  in  the  door.  Her  steady, 
wondering  gaze,  disconcerted  Beulah,  despite  her  assumed  indif- 
ference. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  commotion?  Hal  says  you 
ordered  the  carriage  to  be  ready  at  five  o'clock  to  take  you  away 
from  here.  Oh,  child  !  what  are  things  coming  to  ?  What  will 
master  say  ?  What  won't  he  say  ?  What  are  you  quitting  this 
house  for,  where  you  have  been  treated  as  well  as  if  it  belonged 
to  you  ?  What  ails  you  ?" 

"  Nothing.  I  have  always  intended  to  leave  here  as  soon  as  I 
was  able  to  support  myself.  I  can  do  so  now,  very  easily,  and 
am  going  to  board.  Your  master  knows  I  intend  to  teach." 

"  Bat  he  has  no  idea  that  you  are  going  to  leave  here  before 
he  comes  home,  for  he  gave  us  all  express  orders  to  see  that  you 
had  just  what  you  wanted.  Oh,  he  will  be  in  a  tearing  rage 
when  he  hears  of  it  I  Don't  anger  him,  child  I  Do,  pray,  for 
mercy's  sake,  don't  anger  him  1  He  never  forgets  anything  I 
When  he  once  sets  his  head,  he  is  worse  than  David  on  the 
Philistines  1  If  he  is  willing  to  support  you,  it  his  own  lookout. 
He  is  able,  and  his  money  is  his  own.  His  kin  won't  get  it.  110 
aud  his  brother  don't  speak  ;  and  as  for  Miss  May  !  they  never 
flxd  get  along  in  peace,  even  before  he  was  married.  So,  if  he 
ehooses  to  give  some  of  his  fortune  to  you,  it  is  nobody's  businesi 


BE  II  L  AH.  183 

fent  his  own  ;  and  yon  are  mighty  simple,  I  can  tell  yon,  If  yon 
ion't  stay  here  and  take  it." 

"  That  will  do,  Harriet.  I  do  not  wish  any  more  advice.  I 
don't  want  your  master's  fortune,  even  if  I  had  the  offer  of  it  J 
I  ain  determined  to  make  my  own  living  :  so  just  say  u<\  more 
about  it." 

"  Take  care,  child.     Remember,  '  Pride  godh  before  e.  fall  "  * 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  cried  Beulah,  angrily. 

"  I  mean  that  the  day  is  coming,  when  you  will  be  glaf 
enough  to  come  back  and  let  my  master  take  care  of  you  ! 
That's  what  I  mean.  And  see  if  it  doesn't  come  to  pass.  But 
he  will  not  do  it  then  ;  I  tell  you  now  he  won't.  There  is  no 
forgiving  spirit  about  him  ;  he  is  as  fierce,  and  bears  malice  aa 
long  as  a  Camanche  Injun  !  It  is  no  business  of  mine  though. 
I  have  said  ray  say  :  and  I  will  be  bound  you  will  go  your  own 
gait.  You  are  just  about  as  hard-headed  as  he  is  himself. 
Anybody  would  almost  believe  you  belonged  to  the  Hartwell 
family.  Every  soul  of  them  is  alike  in  the  matter  of  temper  ; 
only  Miss  Pauline  has  something  of  her  pa's  disposition.  I  sup- 
pose, now  her  ma  is  married  again,  she  will  want  to  come  back 
Jo  her  uncle;  should  not  wonder  if  he  'dopted  her,  since  you  have 
got  the  bit  between  your  teeth." 

"  I  hope  he  will,"  answered  Beulah.  She  ill  brooked  Har- 
riet's plain  speech,  but  remembrances  of  past  affection  checked 
the  severe  rebuke  which  more  than  once  rose  to  her  lips. 

"We  shall  see;  we  shall  see  !"  and  Harriet  walked  off  witK 
anything  but  a  placid  expression  of  countenance,  while  Beulah 
sought  Mrs.  Watson  to  explain  her  sudden  departure,  and 
acquaint  her  with  her  plans  for  the  summer.  The  housekeeper 
endeavored  most  earnest"  y  to  dissuade  her  from  taking  the  con- 
templated step,  assuring  her  that  the  doctor  would  be  grieved 
and  displeased  ;  but  her  arguments  produced  no  effect,  and  witk 
tears  of  regret,  she  bade  her  farewell. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  Beulah  took  possession  of  her  room 
at  Mrs.  Hoyt's  house.  The  furniture  was  very  plain,  and  tt4 


184  BEULAH. 

want  of  several  articles  vividly  recalled  the  luxurious  home  she 
had  abandoned.  She  unpacked  and  arranged  her  clothes,  and 
piled  her  books  on  a  small  table,  which  was  the  only  substitute 
for  her  beautiful  desk  and  elegant  rosewood  bookcase.  She 
had  gathered  a  superb  bouquet  of  flowers,  as  she  crossed  the 
front  yard,  and  in  lieu  of  her  Sevres  vases,  placed  them  in  a  dim- 
looking  tumbler,  which  stood  on  the  tall,  narrow  mantelpiece. 
Her  room  was  in  the  third  story,  with  two  windows,  one  opening 
to  the  south,  and  one  to  the  west.  It  grew  dark  by  the  time 
she  had  arranged  the  furniture,  and  too  weary  to  think  of  going 
down  to  tea,  she  unbound  her  hair,  and  took  a  seat  beside  the 
window.  The  prospect  was  extended;  below  her  were  countless 
lamps,  marking  the  principal  streets  ;  and,  in  the  distance,  the 
dark  cloud  of  masts,  told  that  river  and  bay  might  be  distinctly 
seen  by  daylight.  The  quiet  stars  looked  dim  through  the  dusty 
atmosphere,  and  the  noise  of  numerous  vehicles  rattling  by, 
produced  a  confused  impression,  such  as  she  had  never  before 
received  at  this  usually  calm  twilight  season.  The  events  of  the 
day  passed  in  a  swift  review,  and  a  mighty  barrier  seemed  to 
have  sprung  up  (as  by  some  foul  spell)  between  her  guardian 
and  herself.  What  an  immeasurable  gulf  now  yawned  to  sepa- 
rate them.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the  friendly  relations  of 
years  were  thus  suddenly  and  irrevocably  annulled  ?  Would  ha 
relinquish  all  interest  in  one  whom  he  had  so  long  watched  over 
and  directed  ?  Did  he  intend  that  they  should  be  completely 
estranged  henceforth  ?  For  the  first  time  since  Lilly's  death, 
she  felt  herself  thrown  upon  the  world.  Alone  and  unaided,  she 
was  essaying  to  carve  her  own  fortune  from  the  huge  quarries, 
where  thousands  were  diligently  laboring.  An  undefmable  feel 
ing  of  desolation  crept  into  her  heart ;  but  she  struggled  despe- 
rately aga  .ist  it,  and  asked,  in  proud  detiance  of  her  own 
nature  : 

"  Am  1  not  sufficient  unto  myself?  Leaning  only  on  myself 
what  more  should  I  want  ?  Nothing  1  His  sympathy  is  utterlj 
annecessary." 


HEULAH.  185 

A  knock  at  the  door  startled  her,  and  in  answer  tt  hci 
"  come  in,"  Clara  Sanders  entered.  She  walked  slowly,  and 
seating  herself  beside  Beulah,  said,  in  a  gentle  but  weary  tcne  : 

"  How  do  you  like  your  room  ?  I  am  so  glad  it  opens  int« 
erine." 

"  Quito  as  well  as  I  expected.  The  view  from  this  window 
mast  be  very  fine  There  is  the  tea-bell,  I  suppose.  Are  you 
not  going  down  ?  I  am  too  much  fatigued  to  move." 

"  No;  I  never  want. supper,  and  generally  spend  the  evenings 
in  my  room.  It  is  drearily  monotonous  here.  Nothing  to  vary 
the  routine  for  me,  except  my  afternoon  walk,  and  recently  the 
warm  weather  has  debarred  me  even  from  that.  You  are  a 
great  walker,  I  believe,  and  I  look  forward  to  many  pleasant 
rambles  with  you,  when  I  feel  stronger,  and  autumn  comes. 
Beulah,  how  long  does  Dr.  Hartwell  expect  to  remain  at  the 
North  ?  He  told  me,  some  time  ago,  that  he  was  a  delegate  to 
the  Medical  Convention." 

"  I  believe  it  is  rather  uncertain  ;  but  probably  he  will  not 
'eturn  before  October." 

"  Indeed  !  That  is  a  long  time  for  a  physician  to  absent 
Limself." 

Just  then  an  organ-grinder  paused  on  the  pavement  beneath 
the  window,  and  began  a  beautiful  air  from  "  Sonnarnbula  "  It 
was  a  favorite  song  of  Beulah's,  and  as  the  melancholy  tones 
Bwelled  on  the  night  air,  they  recalled  many  happy  hours  spent 
in  the  quiet  study  beside  the  melodeon.  She  leaned  out  of  the 
window  till  the  last  echo  died  away,  and  as  the  musician  shoul- 
i;?red  his  instrument  and  trudged  off,  she  said,  abruptly : 

"  Is  there  not  a  piano  in  the  house  1" 

"  Yes,  just  such  a  one  as  you  might  expect  to  find  in  a  board 
ng-house,  where  unruly  children  are  thrumming  upon  it  frota 
morning  till  night.  It  was  once  a  fine  instrument,  but  now  ia 
only  capable  of  excruciating  discords.  You  will  miss  your  grand 
piano.'' 

"  I  must  have  somethiag  in  my  own  room  to  practise  on 


l86  BEITLAH. 

Perhaps  I  can  hire  a  melod^eon  or  piano  for  a  modenue  sum  ;  1 
will  try  to-morrow." 

"  The  Grahams  are  coming  home  soon,  I  hear.  One  of  the 
principal  upholsterers  boards  here,  and  he  mentioned  this  morn- 
ing at  breakfast  that  he  had  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Grahan\ 
directing  him  to  attend  to  the  unpacking  of  an  entirely  new  set 
Of  furniture.  Everything  will  be  on  a  grand  scale.  I  suppose 
Eugene  returns  with  them  ?" 

"  Yes,  they  will  all  arrive  in  November." 

"  It  must  be  a  delightful  anticipation  for  you." 

"  Why  so,  pray  ?" 

"  Why  ?    Because  you  and  Eugene  are  such  old  friends." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  as  far  as  Eugene  is  concerned,  of  course  it  is  a  very 
pleasant  anticipation." 

"  He  is  identified  with  the  Grahams." 

"  Not  necessarily,"  answered  Beulah,  coldly. 

A  sad  smile  flitted  over  Clara's  sweet  face,  as  she  rose  and 
kissed  her  friend's  brow,  saying  gently  : 

"  Good  night,  dear.  I  have  a  headache,  and  must  try  to 
Bleep  it  off.  Since  you  have  determined  to  battle  with  difficul 
ties,  I  am  very  glad  to  have  you  here  with  me.  I  earnestly  hope 
that  success  may  crown  your  efforts,  and  the  sunshine  of  happi- 
ness dispel  for  you  the  shadows  that  have  fallen  thick  about  my 
pathway.  You  have  been  rash,  Beulah,  and  short-sighted  ;  but 
1  trust  that  all  will  prove  for  the  best.  Good  night." 

She  glided  away,  and  locking  the  door,  Beulah  returned  to 
her  seat,  and  laid  her  head  wearily  down  on  the  window-sill 
What  a  Hermes  is  thought  1  Like  a  vanishing  dream  fled  the 
consciousness  of  surrounding  objects,  and  she  was  with  Eugene 
Now,  in  the  earlier  years  of  his  absence,  she  was  in  Heidelberg, 
listening  to  the  evening  chimes  ;  and  rambling  with  him  through 
ths  heart  of  the  Odenwald.  Then  they  explored  the  Hartz, 
climbed  the  Brocken,  and  there  among  the  clouds,  discussed  the 
adventures  of  Faust,  and  his  kinsman,  Manfred.  Anon,  th« 
arrival  of  the  Grahams  listurbed  the  quiet  of  Eugene's  life,  and 


BEULAH.  187 

"ar  away  from  the  picturesque  haunts  of  Heidelberg  students,  h« 
wandered  with  them  over  Italy,  Switzerland,  and  France.  Ea 
grossed  by  these  companions,  he  no  longer  found  time  to  commun« 
with  her,  and  when  occasionally  he  penned  a  short  letter,  it  was 
hurried,  constrained,  and  unsatisfactory.  One  topic  had  become 
Stereotyped  ;  he  never  failed  to  discourage  the  idea  cf  teaching} 
urged  most  earnestly  the  folly  of  such  a  step,  and  dwelt  upon  the 
numerous  advantages  of  social  position  arising  from  a  residence 
under  her  guardian's  roof.  We  have  seen  that  from  the  hour  rf 
Lilly's  departure  from  the  Asylum,  Beulah's  affections,  hopes, 
pride,  all  centred  in  Eugene.  There  had  long  existed  a  tacit 
compact,  which  led  her  to  consider  her  future  indissolubly  linked 
with  his  ;  and  his  parting  words  seemed  to  seal  this  compact  as 
holy  and  binding,  when  he  declared,  "  I  mean,  of  course,  to  take 
care  of  you  myself,  when  I  come  home,  for  you  know  you  belong 
to  me*  His  letters  for  many  months  retained  the  tone  of  dicta- 
torship, but  the  tenderness  seemed  all  to  have  melted  away.  He 
wrote  as  if  with  a  heart  preoccupied  by  weightier  matters,  and 
now  Beulah  could  no  longer  conceal  from  herself  the  painful  fact 
that  the  man  was  far  different  from  the  boy.  After  five  years' 
absence,  he  was  coming  back  a  man  ;  engrossed  by  other  thoughts 
and  feelings  than  those  which  had  prompted  him  in  days  gone 
by.  With  the  tenacious  hope  of  youth  she  still  trusted  that  she 
might  have  misjudged  him ;  he  could  never  be  other  than  noble 
and  generous  ;  she  would  silence  her  forebodings,  and  wait  til] 
his  return.  She  wished  beyond  all  expression  to  see  him  once 
more,  and  the  prospect  of  a  speedy  reunion  often  made  her  heart 
throb  painfully.  That  he  would  reproach  her  for  her  obstinate 
resolution  of  teaching,  she  was  prepared  to  expect ;  but  strong 
in  the  consciousness  of  duty,  she  committed  herself  tc  the  cart 
cf  a  merciful  God,  and  soon  slept  as  soundly  as  though  under  Dr 
RartweU's  *cof, 


IS8  BKULAH 


CEAPTER    XVII 

So'i ETIMES,  after  sitting  for  five  consecutive  hours  at  the 
guiding  the  clumsy  fingers  of  tyros,  and  listening  to  a  tiresoma 
round  of  scales  and  exercises,  Beulah  felt  exhausted,  mentally 
and  physically,  and  feared  that  she  had  miserably  overrated  her 
powers  of  endurance.  The  long,  warm  days  of  August  dragged 
heavily  by,  and  each  night  she  felt  grateful  that  the  summer  wag 
one  day  nearer  its  grave.  One  afternoon,  she  proposed  to  Clara 
to  extend  their  walk  to  the  home  of  her  guardian,  and  as  she 
readily  assented,  they  left  the  noise  and  crowd  of  the  city,  and 
soon  found  themselves  oa  the  common. 

"  This  is  my  birthday,"  said  Beulah,  as  they  passed  a  clump 
of  pines,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  white  gate  beyond. 

"Ah  !  how  old  are  you  ?" 

"  Eighteen — but  I  feel  much  older." 

She  opened  the  gate,  and  as  they  leisurely  ascended  the  ave- 
iiue  of  aged  cedars,  Beulah  felt  once  more  as  if  she  were  going 
home.  A  fierce  bark  greeted  her,  and  the  next  moment  Charon 
rushed  to  meet  her  ;  placing  his  huge  paws  on  her  shoulders, 
and  whining  and  barking  joyfully.  He  bounded  before  her  f 
the  steps,  and  laid  down  contentedly  on  the  piazza.  Harriet's 
turbaned  head  appeared  at  the  entrance,  and  a  smile  of  welcome 
lighted  up  her  ebon  face,  as  she  shook  Beulah's  hand. 

Mrs.  Watson  was  absent,  and  after  a  few  questions,  Beulah 
entered  the  study,  saying  : 

"  I  want  some  books,  Harriet ;  and  Miss  Sanders  wishes  to  B**f 
"ft  3  paintings." 

Ah  !  every  chair  and  book-shelf  greeted  her  like  dear  friends, 
and  she  bent  down  over  some  volumes  to  hide  the  tears  that 
sprang  into  her  eyes.  The  only  really  happy  portion  of  hf  r  life 
had  been  passed  here  ;  every  article  in  the  room  was  dear  from 


B  K  U  L  A  H  .  189 

association,  and  though  only  a  month  had  elapsed  since  her 
departure,  those  bygone  years  seemed  far,  far  off,  among  the 
mist  of  very  distant  recollections.  Thick  and  fast  fell  the  hot 
dropS;  until  her  eyes  were  bliuded.  and  she  could  no  longer  dis- 
tinguish the  print  they  were  riveted  on.  The  memory  of  kind 
Kniles  haunted  her,  and  kinder  tones  seemed  borne  to  her  from 
every  corner  of  the  apartment.  Clara  was  eagerly  examining 
the  paintings,  and  neither  of  the  girls  observed  Harriet's  en 
trance,  until  she  asked  : 

"  Do  you  know  that  the  yellow  fever  has  broke  out  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  yon  are  mistaken  I  It  can't  be  possible  1"  cried  Clara, 
Carning-  pale. 

"  I  tell  you,  it  is  a  fact.  There  are  six  cases  now  at  the  hos- 
pital ;  Hal  was  there  this  morning.  I  have  lived  here  a  good 
naany  years,  and  from  the  signs,  I  think  we  are  going  to  have 
dreadfully  sickly  times.  You  young  ladies  had  better  keep  out 
of  the  suu  ;  first  thing  you  know,  you  will  have  it." 

"  Who  told  you  there  was  yellow  fever  at  the  hospital  ?" 

"  Dr.  Asbury  said  so  ;  and  what  is  more,  Hal  has  had  it  him- 
st-lf,  and  nursed  people  who  had  it  ;  and  he  says  it  is  the  worst 
sort  of  yellow  fever." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  it,"  said  Beulah,  looking  up  for  the  first 
time. 

"  I  am  dreadfully  afraid  of  it,"  answered  Clara,  with  a  nervous 
shudder. 

"  Then  you  had  better  leave  town  as  quick  as  possible,  for 
folks  who  are  easily  scared  always  catch  it  soonest." 

"  Nonsense  1"  cried  Benlah,  noting  the  deepening  pallor  cf 
Clara's  face. 

"  Oh,  I  will  warrant,  if  everybody  else — every  man,  woman, 
%cd  child  in  the  city — takes  it,  you  won't !  Miss  Beulah,  I 
ifaould  like  to  know  what  yon  are  afraid  of  1"  muttered  Harriet, 
scanning  the  orphan's  countenance,  and  adding,  in  a  louder  toue' 
"  Have  you  heard  anything  from  master  ?" 

"  No,"     Beulah  bit  her  lips  to  conceal  her  emotion. 


1 90  BEULAH, 

"  Hal  hears  from  him.  He  was  in  New  York  when"  oe  wrot* 
the  last  letter."  She  took  a  malicious  pleasure  in  thus  torturing 
her  visitor  ;  and,  determined  not  to  gratify  her  by  an}  manifesta- 
tion of  interest  or  curiosity,  Beulah  took  up  a  couple  of  volume! 
and  turned  to  the  door,  sp.yiug  : 

"  Come,  Clara,  we  umst  each  have  a  bouquet.  Harriet,  where 
are  the  flower-scissors?  Dr.  Hartwell  never  objected  to  my 
carefully  cutting  even  his  choicest  flowers.  There  !  Clara,  listen 
to  the  cool  rippling  of  the  fountain.  How  I  have  longed  to  heat 
ts  silvery  murmur  once  more?" 

They  went  out  into  the  front  yard.  Clara  wandered  about 
the  flower-beds,  gathering  blossoms  which  were  scattered  in 
lavish  profusion  on  all  sides  ;  and  leaning  over  the  marble  basin, 
Beulah  bathed  her  brow  in  the  crystal  waters.  There  was  be- 
witching beauty  and  serenity  in  the  scene  before  her,  and  as 
Claron  nestled  his  great  head  against  her  hand,  she  found  it 
rery  difficult  to  realize  the  fact  that  she  had  left  this  lovely 
retreat  for  the  small  room  at  Mrs.  Hoyt's  boarding-house.  It 
was  not  her  habit,  however,  to  indulge  in  repinings,  and  though 
her  ardent  appreciation  of  beauty  rendered  the  place  incalcula- 
bly dear  to  her,  she  resolutely  gathered  a  cluster  of  flowers, 
bade  adieu  to  Harriet,  and  descended  the  avenue.  Charon 
walked  soberly  beside  her,  now  and  then  looking  up,  as  if  to 
inquire  the  meaning  of  her  long  absence,  and  wonder  at  Ler 
sudden  departure.  At  the  go'e  she  patted  him  affectionately  on 
the  head,  and  passed  out ;  he  made  no  attempt  to  follow  her, 
but  barked  violently,  and  then  laid  down  at  the  gate,  whining 
mournfully. 

"  Poor  Charon  1  I  wish  I  might  have  hha,r;  said  she,  sadly. 

"I  dare  say  the  doctor  would  give  him  to  you,"  answered 
Clara;  very  simply. 

"  I  would  just  as  soon  think  of  asking  him  for  his  own  head," 
replied  Beulah. 

"  It  is  a  mystery  to  me,  Beulah,  how  you  can  feel  so  ooidlj 
toward  Dr.  Hartwell." 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  101 

"I  should  very  much  like  to  know  what  you  mean  oy  that?1 
Aid  Beulah,  iiivoluatarily  crushing  the  flowers  she  held. 

"  Why,  you  speak  of  him  just  as  you  would  of  anybody  else.* 

"  Well  ?" 

"  You  seem  to  be  afraid  of  him." 

"  To  a  certain  extent,  I  am  ;  and  so  is  everybody  elae  wh6 
'knows  him  intimately." 

"  This  fear  is  unjust  to  him." 

"  How  so,  pray  ?" 

"  Because  he  is  too  noble  to  do  aught  to  inspire  it." 

"  Certainly  he  is  feared,  nevertheless,  by  ail  who  know  him 
well." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that,  situated  as  you  have  been,  you  would 
almost  worship  him  1" 

"  I  am  not  addicted  to  worshipping  anything  but  God  1"  an- 
swered Beulah,  shortly. 

"  You  are  an  odd  compound,  Beulah.  Sometimes  1  think  you 
must  be  utterly  heartless  1" 

"  Thank  you." 

"  Don't  be  hurt.  But  you  are  so  cold,  so  freezing  ;  you  chill  me." 

"  Do  I  ?  Dr.  Hartwell  (your  Delphic  oracle  it  seems),  saya  I 
am  as  fierce  as  a  tropical  tornado." 

"  I  do  not  understand  how  you  can  bear  to  give  up  such  an 
enchanting  home,  and  go  to  hard  work,  as  ff  you  were  driven  to 
it  from  necessity." 

"  Do  not  go  over  all  that  beaten  track  again,  if  you  please. 
It  is  not  my  home  1  I  can  be  just  as  happy,  nay  happier,  in  my 
little  room." 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  Clara,  pertinaciously. 

Stopping  suddenly,  and  fixing  her  eyes  steadily  on  her  eon> 
Canton,  Beulah  hastily  asked  : 

"  Clara  Sanders,  why  should  you  care  if  my  guardian  and  J 
aro  separated  ?" 

A  burning  blush  dyed  cheek  and  brow,  as  Clara  drooped  h«i 
and  answered  : 


192  B  £  U  L  A  H  . 

"  Because  he  is  my  friend  also,  and  I  know  that  yonr  departaw 
v~ii  grieve  him." 

"  You  over-estimate  my  worth,  and  his  interest.  He  is  a  man 
»ho  lives  in  a  world  of  his  own  and  needs  no  society,  save  such 
»s  is  afforded  in  his  tasteful  and  elegant  home.  He  loves  books, 
Sowers,  music,  paintings,  and  his  dog  !  Re  is  a  stern  man,  and 
ihares  his  griefs  and  joys  with  no  one.  All  this  I  have  told  you 
before." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  broken  at  last  by  an  exclamation 
from  Beulah  : 

"  Oh  !  how  beautiful  1  how  silent  !  how  solemn  !  Look  down 
the  long  dim  aisles.  It  is  an  oratory  where  my  soul  comes  to 
worship  !  Presently  the  breeze  will  rush  up  from  the  gulf,  and 
sweep  the  greeu  organ,  and  a  melancholy  chant  will  swell  through 
these  dusky  arches.  Oh,  what  are  Gothic  cathedrals,  and  gilded 
shrines  in  comparison  with  these  grand  forest  temples,  where  the 
dome  is  the  bending  vault  of  God's  blue,  and  the  columns  are 
these  everlasting  pines  1"  She  pointed  to  a  thick  clump  of  pines 
sloping  down  to  a  ravine. 

The  setting  sun  threw  long  quivering  rays  through  the  cluster- 
ing boughs,  and  the  broken  beams,  piercing  the  gloom  beyond, 
showed  the  long  aisles  as  in  a  "  cathedral  light." 

As  Clara  looked  down  the  dim  glade,  and  then  watched  Beu- 
lah's  parted  lips  and  sparkling  eyes,  as  she  stood  bending  forward 
with  rapturous  delight  written  on  every  feature,  she  thought  that 
ehe  had  indeed  misjudged  her  in  using  the  epithets  "  freezing  and 
heartless." 

"  You  are  enthusiastic,"  said  she,  gently. 

"  How  can  I  help  it  ?  I  love  the  grand  and  beautiful  too  well 
to  offer  a  tribute  of  silent  admiration.  Oh,  my  homage  is  thai 
af  a  whole  heart  1" 

They  reached  home  in  the  gloaming,  and  each  retired  to  her 
own  room.  For  a  mere  trifle  Beulah  had  procured  the  use  of  a 
melodeon,  and  now,  after  placing  the  drooping  flowers  in  water, 
she  sat  down  before  the  instrument  and  poured  out  the  joy  of  hei 


BEULAH.  193 

nool  in  song.  Sad  memories  no  longer  floated  like  corpses  on  the 
sf  a  of  the  past ;  grim  forebodings  crouched  among  the  mists  of 
the  future,  and  she  sang  song  after  song,  exulting  in  the  gladness 
of  her  heart.  An  analysis  of  these  occasional  hours  of  delight 
was  as  impossible  as  their  creation.  Sometimes  she  was  con- 
scious of  their  approach,  while  gazing  up  at  the  starry  islets  in  the 
boundless  lake  of  azure  sky  ;  or  when  a  gorgeous  sunset  pageant 
was  passing  away  ;  sometimes  from  hearing  a  solemn  chant  in 
church,  or  a  witching  strain  from  a  favorite  opera.  Sometimes 
from  viewing  dim  old  pictures  ;  sometimes  from  reading  a  sub- 
ii:me  passage  in  some  old  English  or  German  author.  It  was  a 
sereue  elevation  of  feeling  ;  an  unbounded  peace  ;  a  chastened 
joyousness,  which  she  was  rarely  able  to  analyze,  but  which  iso- 
lated her  for  a  time  from  all  surrounding  circumstances.  How 
long  she  sang  on  the  present  occasion  she  knew  not,  and  only 
paused  on  hearing  a  heavy  sob  behind  her.  Turning  round,  she 
saw  Clara  sitting  near,  with  her  face  in  her  hands.  Kneeling 
beside  her,  Beulah  wound  her  arms  around  her,  and  asked  ear- 
nestly : 

"  What  troubles  you,  my  friend  ?     May  I  not  know  ?" 

Clara  dropped  her  head  on  Beulah's  shoulder,  and  answered 
hesitatingly  : 

"  The  tones  of  your  voice  always  sadden  me.  They  are  like 
organ-notes,  solemn  and  awful  1  Yes  awful,  and  yet  very  sweet 
— sweeter  than  any  music  I  ever  heard.  Your  singing  fascinates 
me,  yet,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  it  very  often  makes  me  weep. 
There  is  an  uuearthliness,  a  spirituality  that  affects  me  singu- 
larly" 

"  I  am  glad  that  is  all.  I  was  afraid  you  were  distressed 
about  something.  Here,  take  my  rocking-chair;  I  am  going  to 
read,  and  if  you  like,  you  may  have  the  benefit  of  my  book." 

"  Heulah,  do  put  away  your  books  for  one  night,  and  let  us 
have  a  quiet  time.  Don't  study  now.  Come,  sit  here,  and  talk 
to  me." 

"  Flatterer,  do  you  pretend  that  you  prefer  my  chattering  to 


1*  BKULAH 

the  wonderful  words  of  a  man  who  '  talked  like  an  angel  T  You 
must  listen  to  the  tale  of  that  '  Ancient  Mariner  with  glittering 
eye.  " 

"  Spare  me  that  horrible  ghostly  story  of  vessels  freighted 
with  staring  corpses  !  Ugh  !  it  curdled  the  blood  in  my  veins 
once,  and  I  shut  the  book  in  disgust.  Don't  begin  it  now,  for 
heaven's  sake  I" 

"  Why,  Clara  ?  It  is  the  most  thrilling  poem  in  the  English 
language.  Each  reperusal  fascinates  me  more  and  more.  It 
requires  a  dozen  readings  to  initiate  you  fully  into  its  weird 
supernatural  realms." 

"  Yes ;  and  it  is  precisely  for  that  reason  that  I  don't  choose 
to  hear  it.  There  is  quite  enough  of  the  grim  and  hideous  in 
reality,  without  hunting  it  up  in  pages  of  fiction.  When  I  read, 
I  desire  to  relax  my  mind,  not  put  it  on  the  rack,  as  your 
favorite  books  invariably  do.  Absolutely,  Beulah,  after  listening 
to  some  of  your  pet  authors,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  standing  on 
my  nead.  You  need  not  look  so  coolly  incredulous  ;  it  is  a 
positive  fact.  As  for  that  '  Ancient  Mariner '  you  are  so  fond 
of,  I  am  disposed  to  take  the  author's  own  opinion  of  it,  as 
expressed  in  those  lines  addressed  to  himself." 

"  I  suppose,  then,  you  fancy  'ChristabeP  as  little  as  the  other, 
seeing  that  it  is  a  tale  of  witchcraft.  IIow  would  you  relish 
that  grand  anthem  to  nature's  God,  written  in  the  vale  of 
Chamouni  ?" 

"  I  never  read  it,"  answered  Clara,  very  quietly. 

"What?  Never  read  'Sibylline  Leaves?'  Why,  I  will 
wager  my  head  that  you  have  parsed  from  them  a  thousand 
times  1  Never  read  that  magnificent  hymn  before  sunrise,  iu 
the  midst  of  glaciers  and  snow-crowned,  cloud-piercing  peaks  ? 
Listen,  then  ;  and  if  you  don't  feel  like  falling  upon  yoor 
knees,  you  have  not  a  spark  of  poetry  in  your  soul  1" 

She  drew  the  lamp  close  to  her,  and  read  aloud.  Her  finely 
modulated  voice  was  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  task,  and  her 
expressive  countenance  faithfully  depicted  the  contending  einc* 


BEt'LAM.  199 

liens  which  filled  her  mind  as  she  read.  Clara  listened  with 
pleased  interest,  and  when  the  short  poem  was  concluded, 
said  : 

"  Thank  you;  it  is  beautiful.     I  have  often  seen  extracts  from  I }/ 
it.     Still,  there  is  a  description  of  Mont  Blanc  in  '  Manfrea ' 
which  I  believe  I  like  quite  as  well." 

"  What  ?    That  witch  fragment  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  don't  understand  '  Manfred.'  Here  and  there  are  passages 
in  cipher.  I  read  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  hidden  meaning  ;  I 
read  again,  and  it  vanishes  in  mist.  It  seems  to  me  a  poem  of 
symbols,  dimly  adumbrating  truths,  which  my  clouded  intellect 
clutches  at  in  vain.  I  have  a  sort  of  shadowy  belief  that 
*  Astarte,'  as  in  its  ancient  mythological  significance,  symbolizes 
nature.  There  is  a  dusky  veil  of  mystery  shrouding  her,  which 
favors  my  idea  of  her,  as  representing  the  universe.  Manfred, 
with  daring  hand,  tore  away  that  '  Veil  of  Isis,'  which  no  mortal 
had  ever  pierced  before,  and,  maddened  by  the  mockery  of  the 
stony  features,  paid  the  penalty  of  his  sacrilegious  rashness,  and 
fled  from  the  temple,  striving  to  shake  off  the  curse.  My 
guardian  has  a  curious  print  of  '  Astarte,'  taken  from  some  Euro- 
pean Byronic  gallery.  I  have  studied  it,  until  almost  it  seuined 
to  move  and  speak  to  me.  She  is  clad  in  the  ghostly  draperj 
of  the  tomb,  just  as  invoked  by  Nemesis,  with  trailing  trusses, 
closed  eyes,  and  folded  hands.  The  features  are  dim,  spectra., 
yet  marvellously  beautiful.  Almost  one  might  think  the  eyelids 
quivered,  there  is  such  an  air  of  waking  dreaminess.  That  this 
is  a  false  and  inadequate  conception  of  Byron's  '  Astarte,'  I  feel 
assured,  and  trust  that  I  shall  yet  find  the  key  to  this  enigrur 
It  interests  me  greatly,  and  by  some  inexplicable  process,  when 
ever  I  sit  pondering  the  mystery  of  Astarte,  that  wondcrfu, 
creation  in  Shirley  presents  itself.  Astarte  becomes  in  a  trice 
that  '  woman-Titan,'  Nature,  kneeling  before  the  red  hills  of  the 
west,  at  her  evening  prayers.  I  see  her  prostrate  on  the  great 
rteps  of  her  altar,  praying  for  a  fair  night,  for  mariners  at  sea, 


11)6  BEUIAH. 

for  Iambs  in  moors,  and  unfledged  birds  in  woods.  Her  robe  of 
blue,  air  spreads  to  the  outskirts  of  the  heath.  A  veil,  white  as 
an  avalanche,  sweeps  from  her  head  to  her  feet,  and  arabesque? 
of  lightning  flame  on  its  borders.  I  see  her  zone,  purple,  like 
il»e  horizon  ;  through  its  blush  shines  the  star  of  evening.  Her 
forehead  has  the  expanse  of  a  cloud,  and  is  paler  than  the  early 
moon,  risen  long  before  dark  gathers.  She  reclines  on  the  vidge 
of  Stillbro'-Moor,  her  mighty  hands  are  joined  beneath  it.  Sc 
kneeling,  face  to  face,  '  Nature  speaks  with  God.'  Oh!  I  would 
give  twenty  years  of  my  life  to  have  painted  that  Titan's  por- 
trait. I  would  rather  have  been  the  author  of  this,  than  have 
wielded  the  sceptre  of  Zenobia,  in  the  palmiest  days  of 
Palmyra  !" 

She  spoke  rapidly,  and  with  white  lips  that  quivered.  Clara 
looked  at  her  wonderingly,  and  said,  hesitatingly  : 

"  I  don't  understand  the  half  of  what  you  have  been  saying. 
It  sounds  to  me  very  much  as  if  you  had  stumbled  into  a  lumber- 
room  of  queer  ideas  ;  snatched  up  a  handful,  all  on  different 
subjects,  and  woven  them  into  a  speech  as  incongruous  as 
Joseph's  variegated  coat."  There  was  no  reply.  Beulah'a 
hands  were  clasped  on  the  table  before  her,  and  she  leaned 
forward  with  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  the  floor.  Clara  waited  a 
inomeut,  and  then  continued  : 

"  I  never  noticed  any  of  the  mysteries  of  '  Manfred,'  that  seem 
;o  trouble  you  so  much.  I  enjoy  the  fine  passages,  and  never 
"think  of  the  hidden  meanings,  as  you  call  them  ;  whereas  it 
jecms  you  are  always  plunging  about  in  the  dark,  hunting  you 
know  not  what.  I  am  content  to  glide  on  the  surface,  and  " 

"  And  live  in  the  midst  of  foam  and  bubbles  !"  cried  Bculah, 
uritn  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"  Better  that,  than  grope  among  subterranean  caverns,  black 
»nd  icy,  as  you  are  forever  doing.  You  are  even  getting 
a  wsird,  unearthly  look.  Sometimes,  when  I  come  in,  and  find 
you,  book  in  hand,  with  that  far-off  expression  in  your  eyes,  I 
really  dislike  to  speak  to  you.  There  is  no  more  color  iu  you/ 


BEULAH.  19? 

face  and  hands,  thau  in  that  wall  yonder.     Ton  will  dig  youl 
grave  among  books,  if  you  don't  take  care.     There  is  such  a 
thing  as  studying  too  much.     Your  mind  is  perpetually  at  work  |  j 
all  day  you  are  thinking,  thinking,  thinking ;  and  at  night,  since 
the  warm  weather  has  made  me  open  the  door  between  our 
rooms,  I  hear  you  talking  earnestly  and  rapidly  in  your  sleep. 
Last  week  I  came  in  on  tip-toe,  and  stood  a  few  minutes  beside 
your  bed.     The  moon  shone  in  through  the  window,  and  though 
you  were  fast  asleep,  I  saw  that  you  tossed  your  hands  restlessly; 
while  I  stood  there,  yon  spoke  aloud,  in  an  incoherent  manner,  ! 
of  the  '  Dream  Fugue/  and  '  Vision  of  sudden  Death,'  and  now  j 
and  then  you  frowned,  and  sighed  heavily,  as  if  you  were  in  pain. 
Music  is  a  relaxation  to  most  people,  but  it  seems  to  put  your 
thoughts  on  the  rack.     You  will  wear  yourself  out  prematurely, 
if  you  don't  quit  this  constant  studying." 

She  rose  to  go,  and,  glancing  up  at  her,  Beulah  answered, 
musingly  : 

"  We  are  very  unlike.  The  things  that  I  love,  you  shrink 
from  as  dull  and  tiresome.  IJive^h^^:ffcrjei^JE>rJd,.  Books 
are,  to  me,  what  family,  and  friends,  and  society,  are  to  other 
people.  It  may  be  that  the  isolation  of  my  life  necessitates  this, 
Doubtless,  you  often  find  me  abstracted.  Are  you  going  so 
soon  ?  I  had  hoped  we  should  spend  a  profitable  evening,  but  it 
has  slipped  away,  and  I  have  done  nothing.  Good  night."  She 
rose  and  gave  the  customary  good-night  kiss,  and  as  Clara 
retired  to  her  own  room,  Benlah  turned  up  the  wick  of  her  lamp, 
and  resumed  her  book.  The  gorgeous  mazes  of  Coleridge  no 
longer  imprisoned  her  fancy  ;  it  wandered  mid  the  silence,  and 
desolation,  and  sand  rivulets  of  theThebaid  desert  ;  through  the 
date  groves  of  the  lonely  Laura  ;  through  the  museums  of  Alex- 
andria. Over  the  cool,  crystal  depths  of  "  Hypatia,"  her  thirsty 
spirit  hung  eagerly.  In  Philaramon's  intellectual  nature  she  found 
a  startling  resemblance  to  her  own.  Like  him,  she  had  entered 
R  forbidden  temple,  and  learned  to  question  ;  and  the  same 
"  insatiable  craving  to  know  the  mysteries  of  learning "  wai 


198  BEtTLAH. 

impelling  her,  with  irresistible  force,  out  into  the  world  :)f  philo 
BOphic  inquiry.  Hours  fled  on  unnoted  ;  with  nervous  haste  th« 
leaves  were  turned.  The  town  clock  struck  three.  As  she 
finished  the  book,  and  laid  it  on  the  table,  she  bowod  her  head 
';;  upon  her  hands.  She  was  bewildered.  Was  Kingsley  his  own 
Raphael-Aben-Ezra  ?  or  did  he  heartily  believe  in  the  Christi. 
anity  of  which  he  had  given  so  hideous  a  portraiture  ?  Her 
brain  whirled,  yet  there  was  a  great  dissatisfaction.  She  could 
not  contentedly  go  back  to  the  Laura  with  Philammon ; 
"  Hypatia "  was  not  sufficiently  explicit.  She  wa?  lissatisfied  ; 
there  was  more  than  this  Alexandrian  ecstasy,  to  wnich  Hypatia 
was  driven  ;  but  where,  and  how  should  she  find  it  ?  Who 
would  guide  her  ?  Was  not  her  guardian,  in  many  respects,  as 
skeptical  as  Raphael  himself  ?  Dare  she  enter,  alone  and  un- 
niJed,  this  Cretan  maze  of  investigation,  where  all  the  wonderful 
lore  of  the  gifted  Hypatia  had  availed  nothing  ?  What  was  her 
Intellect  given  her  for,  if  not  to  be  thus  employed  ?  Her  head 
ached  with  the  intensity  of  thought,  and  as  she  laid  it  on  her 
pillow  and  closed  her  eyes,  day  looked  out  ovei  the  eastern  sky 
The  ensuing  week  was  one  of  anxious  apprehension  to  all 
within  the  city.  Harriet's  words  seemed  prophetic  ;  there  was 
every  intimation  of  a  sickly  season.  Yellow  fever  had  made  its 
appearance  in  several  sections  of  the  town,  in  its  most  malignant 
type  The  Board  of  Health  devised  various  schemes  for  arrest- 
ing the  advancing  evil.  The  streets  were  powdered  with  lime, 
and  huge  fires  of  tar  kept  constantly  burning,  yet  daily,  hourly, 
the  fatality  increased  ;  and  as  colossal  ruin  strode  on,  the  terri- 
fied citizens  fled  in  all  directions.  In  ten  days  the  epidemic 
began  to  make  fearful  havoc  ;  all  classes  and  ages  were  assailed 
Indiscriminately.  Whole  families  were  stricken  down  in  a  day 
and  not  one  member  spared  to  aid  the  others.  The  exodus  wag 
jnly  limited  by  impossibility  ;  all  who  could,  abandoned  tlieii 
Domes,  and  sought  safety  in  flight.  These  were  the  fortunate 
minority  ;  and,  as  if  resolved  to  wreak  its  fury  on  the  remainder, 
the  contagion  spread  into  every  quarter  of  the  city  Not  eves 


B  E  D  L  A  H  .  .    198 

physicians  were  spared;  and  those  who  escaped,  trembled  in 
anticipation  of  the  fell  stroke.  Many  doubted  that  it  was  yellow 
fever,  and  conjectured  that  the  veritable  plague  had  crossed  tha 
ocean.  Of  all  Mrs.  Hoyt's  boarders,  but  half-a-dozen  determined 
to  hazard  remaining  in  the  infected  region  ;  these  were  Beulah, 
Clara,  and  four  gentlemen.  Gladly  would  Clara  have  fled  to  a 
place  of  safety,  had  it  been  in  her  power  ;  but  there  was  no  one 
to  accompany  or  watch  over  her,  and  as  she  was  forced  to  wit- 
ness the  horrors  of  the  season,  a  sort  of  despair  seemed  to  nerve 
her  trembling  frame.  Mrs.  Watson  had  been  among  the  first  to 
leave  the  city.  Madam  St.  Cyrnon  had  disbanded  her  school  ; 
and  as  only  her  three  daughters  continued  to  take  music  lessons, 
Beulah  had  ample  leisure  to  contemplate  the  distressing  scenes 
which  surrounded  her.  At  noon,  one  September  day,  she  stood 
at  the  open  window  of  her  room.  The  air  was  intensely  hot ; 
the  drooping  leaves  of  the  China-trees  were  motionless  ;  there 
was  not  a  breath  of  wind  stirring  ;  and  the  sable  plumes  of  the 
hearses  were  still  as  their  burdens.  The  brazen,  glittering  sky, 
seemed  a  huge  glowing  furnace,  breathing  out  only  scorching 
heat.  Beulah  leaned  out  of  the  window,  and  wiping  away  the 
heavy  drops  that  stood  on  her  brow,  looked  down  the  almost 
deserted  street.  Many  of  the  stores  were  closed  ;  whilom  busy 
haunts  were  silent  ;  and  very  few  persons  were  visible,  save  the 
drivers  of  two  hearses,  and  of  a  cart  filled  with  coffins.  The 
church  bells  tolled  unceasingly,  and  the  desolation,  the  horror, 
was  indescribable,  as  the  sable  wings  of  the  destroyer  hung  over 
the  doomed  city.  Out  of  her  ten  fellow-graduates,  four  slept  ID 
tho  cemetery.  The  night  before,  she  had  watched  beside  another, 
%i«i]  at  dawn,  saw  the  limbs  stiffen,  and  the  eyes  grow  sightless. 
A  aiong  her  former  schoolmates,  the  contagion  had  been  parti- 
:u!arly  fatal,  and,  fearless  of  danger,  she  had  nursed  two  of  them. 
As  she  stood  fanning  herself,  Clara  entered  hurriedly,  and  sinking 
into  a  chair,  exclaimed,  in  accents  of  terror  : 

"  It  has  come  !  as  I  knew  it  would  I     Two  of  Mrs.  Hoyt'i 
rhUdren  have  been  taken,  and,  I  believe,  one  of  the  waiters  also! 


200    .  BEULAH. 

Merciful  God  !  what  will  become  of  me  F  Her  teeth  chattered, 
and  she  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Clara  !  Your  excessive  terror  is  your 
greatest  danger.  If  you  would  escape,  you  must  keep  as  quiet 
as  possible. 

She  poured  out  a  glass  of  water,  and  made  her  drink  it;  '.hea 
asked: 

"Can  Mrs.  Hoyt  get  medical  aid?" 

"  No;  she  has  sent  for  every  doctor  in  town,  and  not  one  has 
come." 

"  Then  I  will  go  down  and  assist  her."  Beulah  turned  toward 
the  door,  but  Clara  caught  her  dress,  and  said  hoarsely: 

"  Are  you  mad,  thus  continually  to  put  your  life  in  jeopardy  ? 
Are  you  shod  with  immortality,  that  you  thrust  yourself  into  the 
very  path  of  destruction  ?" 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  fever,  and  therefore  think  I  shall  not 
take  it.  As  long  as  I  am  able  to  be  up,  I  shall  do  all  that  I 
can  to  relieve  the  sick.  Remember,  Clara,  nurses  are  not  to  be 
had  now  for  any  sum."  She  glided  down  the  steps,  and  found 
the  terrified  mother  wringing  her  hands  helplessly  over  the 
stricken  ones.  The  children  were  crying  on  the  bed,  and  with 
tho  energy  which  the  danger  demanded,  Beulah  speedily  ordered 
the  mustard  baths,  and  administered  the  remedies  she  had  seeu 
prescribed  on  previous  occasions.  The  fever  rose  rapidly,  and 
undaunted  by  thoughts  of  personal  danger,  she  took  her  place 
beside  the  bed.  It  was  past  midnight  when  Dr.  Asbury  came ; 
exhausted  and  haggard  from  unremitting  toil  and  vigils,  ha 
looked  several  years  older  than  when  she  had  last  seen  him. 
He  started  on  perceiving  her  perilous  post,  and  said  anxiously: 

"Oh,  you  are  rash!  very  rash!  What  would  Uartwell  say? 
What  will  he  think  when  he  comes  ?" 

"  Comes!  Surely  you  have  not  urged  him  to  come  bacfc 
BOW!"  said  she,  grasping  his  arm  convulsively. 

"  Certainly.  J  telegraphed  to  him  to  come  home  by  express 
You  need  not  /ook  so  troubled  ;  he  has  had  this  Egyptiat 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  20J 

Dlague,  will  run  no  risk,  and  even  if  tie  should,  will  return  iA 
soon  as  possible." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  he  has  had  the  fever?" 

''•  Yes,  sure.  I  nursed  him  myself,  the  summer  after  he  cam* 
from  Europe,  and  thought  he  would  die.  That  was  the  last 
sickly  season  we  hare  had  for  years,  but  this  caps  the  climax  ol 
ail  I  ever  saw  or  heard  of  in  America.  Thank  God,  my  wife 
and  children  are  far  away;  and,  free  from  apprehension  on  theii 
account,  I  can  do  my  duty." 

All  this  was  said  in  an  undertone,  and  after  advising  every- 
thing that  could  possibly  be  done,  he  left  the  room,  beckoning- 
Beulah  after  him.  She  followed,  and  he  said  earnestly: 

"  Child,  I  tremble  for  you.  Why  did  you  leave  Hartwell'a 
house,  and  incur  all  this  peril  ?  Beulah,  though  it  is  nobly 
unselfish  in  you  to  devote  yourself  to  the  sick,  as  you  are  doing, 
it  may  cost  you  your  life — nay,  most  probably  it  will." 

"  I  have  thought  of  it  all,  sir,  and  determined  to  do  my  duty." 

"  Then  God  preserve  you.  Those  children  have  been  taken 
violently;  watch  them  closely;  good  nursing  is  worth  all  the 
apothecary  shops.  You  need  not  send  for  me  auy  more;  I  an? 
put  constantly;  whenever  I  can  I  will  come;  meantime,  depend 
only  on  the  nursing.  Should  you  be  taken  yourself,  let  me  know 
a«  once ;  do  not  fail.  A  word  more — keep  yourself  well  stimulated." 

He  hurried  away,  and  she  returned  to  the  sick-rojin,  to 
speculate  on  the  probability  of  soon  meeting  her  guardian. 
Who  can  tell  how  dreary  were  the  days  and  nights  thet  fol- 
lowed ?  Mrs.  Hoyt  took  'the  fever,  and  mother  and  children 
maaued  together.  On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  the  eldest 
iliild,  a  girl  of  eight  years,  died,  with  Beulah's  hand  grasped  in 
iiers.  Happily,  the  mother  was  unconscious,  and  the  little  corpse 
iras  borne  into  an  adjoining  room.  Beulah  shrank  from  the  task 
ji'hich  she  felt,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  called  on  to  perform. 
She  could  nurse  the  living,  but  dreaded  the  thought  of  shrouding 
the  dead.  Still,  there  .was  no  one  else  to  do  it,  and  she  bravelj 
conquered  her  repugnance,  and  clad,  the  youug  sleeper  for  tbf 
9* 


202  BfcULAH. 

tomb.  The  gentlemen  boarders,  who  had  luckily  escaped, 
arranged  the  mournful  particulars  of  the  burial ;  and  aftei 
severing  a  sunny  lock  of  hair  for  the  mother,  should  she  live, 
Beulah  saw  the  cold  form  borne  out  to  its  last  restiug-place. 
Another  gloomy  day  passed  slowly,  and  she  was  rewarded  by 
he  convalescence  of  the  remaining  sick  child.  Mrs.  Hoyt  stilJ 
flung  upon  the  confines  of  eternity;  and  Beulah,  who  had  not 
closed  her  eyes  for  many  nights,  was  leaning  over  the  bed, 
counting  the  rushing  pulse,  when  a  rapid  step  caused  her  to 
look  up,  and  falling  forward  in  her  arms,  Clara  cried: 

"  Save  me!  save  me!     The  chill  is  on  me  nowl" 

It  was  too  true;  and  as  Beulah  assisted  her  to  her  room,  and 
turefully  bathed  her  feet,  her  heart  was  heavy  with  dire  dread 
lest  Clara's  horror  of  the  disease  should  augment  its  ravages. 
Dr.  Asbury  was  summoned  with  all  haste,  but  as  usual  seemed 
an  age  in  coming,  and  when  at  last  he  came,  could  only  pre- 
scribe what  had  already  been  done.  It  was  pitiable  to  watch 
the  agonized  expression  of  Clara's  sweet  face,  as  she  looked 
from  the  countenance  of  the  physician  to  that  of  her  friend, 
striving  to  discover  their  opinion'  of  her  case. 

"  Doctor,  you  must  send  Ilal  to  me.  He  can  nurse  Mrs 
Hoyt  and  little  Willie  while  I  watch  Clara.  I  can't  possibly 
lake  care  of  all  three,  though  Willie  is  a  great  deal  better. 
Oan  you  send  him  at  once  ?  he  is  a  good  nurse." 

"  Yes,  he  has  been  nursing  poor  Tom  Hamil,  but  he  died 
about  an  hour  ago,  and  Hal  is  released.  I  look  for  Hartwell 
nourly.  You  do  keep  up  amazingly  !  Bless  you,  Beulah  I" 
Wringing  her  hand,  he  descended  the  stairs. 

ReSntering  the  room,  Beulah  sat  down  beside  Clara,  and 
taking  one  burning  hand  in  her  cool  palms,  pressed  it  softly 
laying,  in  an  encouraging  tone  : 

"  I  feel  so  much  relieved  about  Willie,  he  is  a  great  deal  bet- 
ter ;  and  I  think  Mrs.  Hoyt's  fever  is  abating.  You  were  no1 
iaken  so  severely  as  Willie,  and  if  you  will  go  to  sleep  quietly, "' 
believe  you  will  only  have  a  light  attack." 


BEULAH.  201 

"  Did  those  down-stairs  have  black-vomit  ?"  asked  Clara,  Bhad 
deringly, 

"  Lizzie  had  it ;  the  others  did  not.  Try  not  to  think  aboui 
tt.  Go  to  sleep." 

"What  was  that  the  doctor  said  about  Dr.  Hartwefl?  1 
jould  not  hear  very  well,  you  talked  so  low.  Ah  1  tell  me, 
Beulah." 

"  Only  that  he  is  coming  home  soon — that  was  all.  Don't 
talk  any  more." 

Clara  closed  her  eyes,  but  tears  stole  from  beneath  the  lashes, 
and  coursed  rapidly  down  her  glowing  cheeks.  The  lips  moved 
in  prayer,  and  her  fingers  closed  tightly  over  those  of  her  com 
panion.  Beulah  felt  that  her  continued  vigils  and  exertion* 
were  exhausting  her.  Her  limbs  trembled  when  she  walked, 
and  there  was  a  dull  pain  in  her  head,  which  she  could  not 
Danish.  Her  appetite  had  long  since  forsaken  her,  and  it  waa 
only  by  the  exertion  of  a  determined  will  that  she  forced  herself 
to  eat.  She  was  warmly  attached  to  Clara,  and  the  dread  of  losing 
this  friend  caused  her  to  suffer  keenly.  Occasionally  she  stole 
away  to  see  the  other  sufferers,  fearing  that  when  Mrs.  Hoyt 
discovered  Lizzie's  death,  the  painful  intelligence  would  seal  her 
own  fate.  It  was  late  at  night.  She  had  just  returned  from  one 
of  these  hasty  visits,  and  finding  that  Hal  was  as  attentive  as 
any  one  could  be,  she  threw  herself,  weary  and  anxious,  into  an 
arm-chair  beside  Clara's  bed.  The  crimson  face  was  turned 
toward  her,  the  parched  lips  parted,  the  panting  breath,  labored 
and  irregular.  The  victim  was  delirious ;  the  hazel  eyes,  in- 
flamed and  vacant,  rested*  on  Beulah's  countenance,  and  she 
murmured  : 

"  He  will  never  know  1  Oh,  no  !  how  should  he  ?  The  gia?e 
prill  soon  shut  me  in,  and  I  shall  see  him  no  more— no  more  F 
She  shuddered  and  turned  away. 

Beulah  leaned  her  head  against  the  bed,  and  as  a  tear  slid 
down  upon  her  hand,  she  thought  and  said  with  bitter  sorrow : 

"  I  would  rather  see  her  the  victim  of  death,  than  have  Lei 


8(M  B  E  E  L  A  H  . 

drag  out  an  aimless,  cheerless  existence,  rendered  joyless  by  thij 
hopeless  attachment !' 

She  wondered  whether  Dr.  Hartwell  suspected  this  love  HP 
was  remarkably  quick-sighted,  and  men,  as  well  as  women,  \rere 
very  vain,  and  wont  to  give  even  undue  weight  to  every  circum- 
stance which  flattered  their  self-love.  She  had  long  seen  this 
partiality  ;  would  not  the  object  of  it  be  quite  as  penetrating T 
Clara  was  very  pretty  ;  nay,  at  times  she  was  beautiful.  If  con- 
scious of  her  attachment,  could  he  ever  suffer  himself  to  be 
influenced  by  it  ?  No  ;  impossible  !  There  were  utter  antagon- 
isms of  taste  and  temperament  which  rendered  it  very  certain 
that  she  would  not  suit  him  for  a  companion.  Yet  she  was  very 
lovable.  Beulah  walked  softly  across  the  room  and  leaned  out 
of  the  window.  An  awful  stillness  brooded  over  the  scourged 
city. 

"The  moving  moon  went  up  the  sky, 

And  nowhere  did  abide  ; 
Softly  she  was  going  up, 
And  a  star  or  two  beside." 

The  soft  beams  struggled  to  pierce  the  murky  air,  dense  with 
smoke  from  the  burning  pitch.  There  was  no  tread  on  the 
pavement ,  all  was  solemn  as  Death,  who  held  such  mad  revel  in 
the  crowded  graveyards.  Through,  the  shroud  of  smoke  she 
could  see  the  rippling  waters  of  the  bay,  as  the  faint  southern 
bieeze  swept  its  surface.  It  was  a  desolation  realizing  all  the 
horrors  of  the  "  Masque  of  the  Red  Death,"  and  as  she  thought 
of  the  mourning  hearts  in  that  silent  city,  of  Clara's  danger  a.id 
ber  own,  Beulah  repeated,  sadly,  those  solemn  lines : 

"  Like  clouds  that  rake  the  mountain  summit, 

Or  waves  that  own  no  curbing  hand, 

How  fast  has  brother  followed  brother, 

From  sunshine  to  the  sunless  land?" 

Clasping  her  hands,  she  added,  earnestly  : 


BBULAH.  205 

"  I  thank  thee,  my  Father !  that  the  Atlanta;  rolls  betweel 
Eugene  and  this  '  besom  of  destruction.'  •'' 

A  touch  on  her  shoulder  caused  her  to  look  around,  ttnd  he» 
eyes  rested  on  her  guardian.  She  started,  but  did  not  speak, 
and  held  out  her  hand.  He  looked  at  her,  long  and  searchingly ; 
his  lip  trembled,  and  instead  of  taking  her  offered  hand,  hf 
passed  his  arm  around  her,  and  drew  her  to  his  bosom.  She 
looked  up,  with  surprise  ;  and  bending  his  haughty  head,  he 
kissed  her  pale  brow,  for  the  first  time.  She  felt  then  that  she 
would  like  to  throw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  tell  him  how 
very  glad  she  was  to  see  him  again — how  unhappy  his  suddeu 
departure  had  made  her  ;  but  a  feeling  she  could  not  pause  to 
analyze,  prevented  her  from  following  the  dictates  of  her  heart; 
and  holding  her  off.  so  as  to  scan  her  countenance,  Dr.  Hartwell 
said: 

"  How  worn  and  haggard  you  look  1  Oh,  child !  your  rash 
obstinacy  has  tortured  me  beyond  expression." 

"  I  have  but  done  my  duty.  It  has  been  a  horrible  time.  I 
am  glad  you  have  come.  You  will  not  let  Clara  die." 

"  Sit  down,  child.     You  are  trembling  from  exhaustion." 

He  drew  up  a  chair  for  her,  and  taking  her  wrist  in  his  hand, 
said,  as  he  examined  the  slow  pulse  : 

4<  Was  Clara  takeu  violently  ?    How  is  she  ?" 

"  She  is  delirious,  and  so  much  alarmed  at  her  danger  that  I 
feel  very  uneasy  about  her.  Come  and  see  her  ;  perhaps  she  will 
know  you."  She  led  the  way  to  the  bedside  ;  but  there  was  no 
recognition  in  the  wild,  restless  eyes,  and  as  she  tossed  from  side 
to  side,  her  incoherent  muttering  made  Beulah  dread  lest  she 
should  discover  to  its  object  the  adoring  love  which  filled  her 
pure  heart.  She  told  her  guardian  what  had  been  prescribed. 
He  offered  no  suggestion  as  to  the  treatment,  but  gave  a  potior 
which  she  informed  him  was  due.  As  Clara  swallowed  the 
draught,  she  looked  at  him,  and  said  eagerly  : 

"  Has  he  come  ?  Did  he  say  he  would  see  me  and  save  me  1 
Did  Dr  Hartwell  send  me  this  ?" 


V"4j  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

"  She  raves,"  said  Beulah,  hastily. 

A  sliadow  fell  upon  his  face,  and  stooping  over  tLe  pillow,  h« 
answered,  very  gently  : 

"  Yes,  he  has  come  to  save  you.     He  is  here." 

She  smiled,  and  seemed  satisfied  for  a  moment,  then  moaned, 
tnd  muttered  on  indistinctly. 

11  He  knows  it  all  ?  Oh,  poor,  poor  Clara  1"  thought  Beulah. 
ihading  her  face,  to  prevent  his  reading  what  passed  in  her  mind. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  sitting  up,  Beulah  ?" 

She  told  him. 

"  It  is  no  wonder  you  look  as  if  years  had  suddenly  passeo 
over  your  head  !  You  have  a  room  here,  I  believe.  Go  to  it,  and 
go  to  sleep  ;  I  will  not  leave  Clara." 

It  was  astonishing  how  his  presence  removed  the  dread  weight 
of  responsibility  from  her  heart.  Not  until  this  moment  had  she 
felt  as  if  she  could  possibly  sleep. 

"  I  will  sleep  now,  so  as  to  be  refreshed  for  to-morrow  and  to- 
morrow night.  Here  is  a  couch,  I  will  sleep  here,  and  if  Clara 
grows  worse  you  must  wake  me."  She  crossed  the  room,  threw 
herself  on  the  couch,  and  laid  her  aching  head  on  her  arm.  Dr. 
flartwell  placed  a  pillow  under  the  head  ;  once  more  his  fingers 
sought  her  wrist  ;  once  more  his  lips  touched  her  forehead,  and 
as  he  returned  to  watch  beside  Clara,  and  listen  to  her  raviugs, 
Beulah  sank  into  a  heavy,  dreamless  sleep  of  exhaustion. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

SHE  was  awakened  by  the  cool  pattering  of  rain-drops,  which 
Veat  through  the  shutters  and  fell  upon  her  face.  She  sprang 
10  with  a  thrill  of  delight,  and  looked  out.  A  leaden  sky  low- 
ered over  the  city,  and  as  the  torrents  came  down  iu  whitening 
sheets^  the  thunder  rolled  continuously  over  head,  and  trailing 


BETTLAH.  207 

wren  hs  of  smoke  from  the  dying  fires,  drooped  like  banners  cvei 
the  roofs  of  the  houses.  Not  the  shower  which  gathered  and 
fell  around  sea-girt  Carmel  was  more  gratefully  received. 

"  Thank  God  !  it  rains  !"  cried  Beulah,  and  turning  toward 
Clara,  she  saw  with  pain  that  the  sufferer  was  all  unconscious  of 
the  tardy  blessing.  She  kissed  the  hot,  dry  brow  ;  but  no  token 
of  recognition  greeted  her  anxious  gaze.  The  fever  was  at  its 
blight ;  the  delicate  features  were  strangely  sharpened  and  dis- 
torted. Save  the  sound  of  her  labored  breathing,  the  room  was 
silent,  and  sinking  on  her  knees,  Beulah  prayed  earnestly  that  the 
gentle  sufferer  might  be  spared.  As  she  rose,  her  guardian  en- 
tered, and  she  started  at  the  haggard,  wasted,  harassed  look  of 
the  noble  face,  which  she  had  not  observed  before.  He  bent 
down  and  coaxed  Clara  to  take  a  spoonful  of  medicine,  and  Beu- 
«ah  asked,  earnestly  : 

"  Have  you  been  ill,  sir  ?" 

"No." 

He  did  not  even  glance  at  her.  The  affectionate  cordiality 
of  the  hour  of  meeting  had  utterly  vanished.  He  looked  as 
sold,  stern,  and  impenetrable  as  some  half-buried  sphinx  of  the 
desert. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  others  this  morning  ?"  said  she,  making 
a  strong  effort  to  conceal  the  chagrin  this  revulsion  of  feeling 
occasioned. 

"  Yes  ;  Mrs.  Hoyt  will  get  well." 

"  Does  she  know  of  her  child's  death  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  are  not  going,  surely  ?"  she  continued,  as  he  took  his  hac 
and  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"  I  am  needed  elsewhere.  Only  nursing  can  now  avail  here 
You  know  very  well  what  is  requisite.  Either  Dr.  Asbury  or  I 
will  be  here  again  to-night,  to  sit  up  with  this  gentle  girl." 

"  You  need  neither  of  you  come  to  sit  up  with  her.  I  will  do 
that  myself.  I  shall  not  sleep  another  moment  until  I  know  that 
<Tne  is  better." 


808  B  K  TJ  L  A  H  . 

"Very  well."     He  left  the  room  immediately. 

"How  he  cases  his  volcanic  nature  in  ice,"  thought  Ben !a)\ 
sinking  into  the  arm-chair.  "  Last  night  he  seemed  so  kind,  so 
cordial,  so  much  ray  friend  and  guardian  !  •  To-day  there  is  a 
mighty  barrier,  as  though  he  stood  on  some  towering  crag,  and 
talked  to  rne  across  an  infinite  gulf  !  Well,  well,  even  an  Arctic 
eight  passes  away  ;  and  I  can  afford  to  wait  till  his  humor 
changes." 

For  many  hours  the  rain  fell  unceasingly,  but  toward  sunset 
the  pall  of  clouds  was  scourged  on  by  a  brisk  western  breeze, 
and  the  clear  canopy  of  heaven,  no  longer  fiery  as  for  days  past, 
but  cool  and  blue,  bent  serenely  over  the  wet  earth.  The  slant- 
ing rays  of  the  swiftly  sinking  sun  flashed  through  dripping 
boughs,  creating  myriads  of  diamond  sprays  ;  and  over  the  spark- 
ling waters  of  the  bay  sprang  a  brilliant  bow,  arching  superbly 
along  the  eastern  horizon,  where  a  bank  of  clouds  still  lay. 
Verily,  it  seemed  a  new  covenant,  that  the  destroying  demon 
should  no  longer  desolate  the  beautiful  city,  and  to  many  an 
anxious,  foreboding  heart  that  glorious  rainbow  gave  back  hope 
and  faith.  A  cool,  quiet  twilight  followed.  Beulah  knew  that 
hearses  still  bore  the  dead  to  their  silent  chambers  ;  she  could 
hear  the  rumbling,  the  melancholy,  solemn  sound  of  the  wheels  ; 
but  firm  trust  reigned  in  her  heart,  and  with  Clara's  hand  in 
hers,  she  felt  an  intuitive  assurance  that  the  loved  one  would  not 
yet  be  summoned  from  her  .earthly  field  of  action.  The  sick  in 
the  other  part  of  the  house  were  much  better,  and  though  one 
of  the  gentlemen  boarders  had  been  taken  since  morning,  she 
lighted  the  lamp  and  stole  about  the  room  with  a  calmer,  happier 
spirit  than  she  had  known  for  many  days.  She  fancied  that  her. 
thargs  breathed  more  easily,  and  the  wild  stare  of  the  inflamed 
eyes  was  concealed  under  the  long  lashes  which  lay  on  thf 
jheeks.  The  sufferer  slept,  and  the  watcher  augured  favorably. 
About  nine  o'clock  she  heard  steps  on  the  stairs,  and  soon  aftei 
Doctors  Asbury  and  Hart  well  entered  together.  There  was  littl« 
to  be  told,  and  less  to  be  advised,  and  while  the  latter  atten 


BKULAH.  209 

fit  ely  examined  the  pulse,  and  looked  down  at  the  altered  conn 
tenance,  stamped  with  the  signet  of  the  dread  disease,  the 
former  took  Beulah's  hand  in  both  his,  and  said  kindly : 

"How  do  you  do,  my  little  heroine?  By  Nebros!  you  ar« 
worth  your  weight  in  medical  treatises.  How  are  you,  lit  Je 
ire  ?» 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you,  sir,  and  I  dare  say  I  am  much  mere 
ble  to  sit  up  with  the  sick  than  you,  who  have  had  no  respite 
whatever.  Don't  stand  up,  when  you  must  be  so  weary  ;  take 
this  easy-chair."  Holding  his  hand  firmly,  she  drew  him  down 
to  it.  There  had  always  been  a  fatherly  tenderness  in  his  man- 
ner toward  her,  when  visiting  at  her  guardian's,  and  she  regarded 
him  with  reverence  and  affection.  Though  often  blunt,  he  never 
chilled  nor  repelled  her,  as  his  partner  so  often  did,  and  now 
she  stood  beside  him,  still  holding  one  of  his  hands.  He 
smoothed  back  the  grey  hair  from  his  furrowed  brow,  and  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  blue  eye,  said  : 

"  How  much  will  you  lake  for  your  services  ?  1  want  to 
engage  you  to  teach  my  madcap  daughters  a  little  quiet  bravery 
and  uncomplaining  endurance." 

.  "  I  have  none  of  the  Shylock  in  my  composition  ;  only  give 
me  a  few  kind  words  and  I  shall  be  satisfied.  Now,  once  for  all, 
Dr.  Asbury,  if  you  treat  me  to  any  more  barefaced  flattery  of 
this  sort,  I  nurse  no  more  of  your  patients." 

Dr.  Hartwell  here  directed  his  partner's  attention  to  Clara, 
and  thoroughly  provoked  at  the  pertinacity  with  which  he 
avoided  noticing  her,  she  seized  the  brief  opportunity  to  visit 
Mrs,  Hoyt  and  little  Willie.  The  mother  welcomed  her  with  a 
silent  grasp  of  the  hand  and  gush  of  tears.  But  this  was  no 
time  for  acknowledgments,  and  Beulah  strove,  by  a  few  encou- 
raging remarks,  to  cheer  the  bereaved  parent  and  interest 
Willie,  who,  like  all  other  children  under  such  circumstances 
had  grown  fretful.  She  shook  up  their  pillows,  iced  a  fre?h 
pitcher  of  water  for  them,  and  promising  to  run  down  and  se« 
them  often,  now  that  Hal  was  forced  tc  give  his  attention  to  tin 


310  BEULAH. 

last  victim,  she  noiselessly  stole  back  to  Clara's  room.  Dr.  Hart 
well  was  walking  up  and  down  the  floor,  and  his  companion  sat 
just  as  she  had  left  him.  He  rose  as  she  entered,  and  putting 
on  his  hat,  said,  kindly  : 

"  Are  you  able  to  sit  up  with  Miss  Sanders  to-night  ?  If  not 
•ay  so  candidly." 

•'  I  am  able,  and  determined  to  do  so." 

"  Very  well.     After  to-morrow  it  will  not  be  needed." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  cried  Beulah,  clutching  his  arm. 

"  Don't  look  so  savage,  child.  She  will  either  be  convalea* 
cent,  or  Ivyond  all  aid.  I  hope  and  believe  the  former.  Watch 
her  closely  till  I  see  you  again.  Good  night,  dear  child."  He 
stepped  to  the  door;  and  with  a  slight  inclination  of  his  head, 
Or.  Hartwell  followed  him. 

It  was  a  vigil  Beulah  never  forgot.  The  night  seemed  inter- 
minable, as  if  the  car  of  time  were  driven  backward,  and  she 
Jonged  inexpressibly  for  the  dawning  of  day.  Four  o'clock 
came  at  last  ;  silence  brooded  over  the  town  ;  the  western 
breeze  had  sung  itself  to  rest,  and  there  was  a  solemn  hush,  aa 
though  all  nature  stood  still,  to  witness  the  struggle  between 
dusky  Azrael  and  a  human  soul.  Clara  slept.  The  distant  stars 
looked  down  encouragingly  from  their  homes  of  blue,  and  once 
more  the  lonely  orphan  bent  her  knee  in  supplication  before  the 
throne  of  Jehovah.  But  a  cloud  seemed  hovering  between  her 
heart  and  the  presence-chamber  of  Deity.  In  vain  she  prayed, 
and  tried  to  believe  that  life  would  be  spared  in  answer  to  her 
petitions.  Faith  died  in  her  soul,  and  she  sat  with  her  eyes 
riveted  upon  the  face  of  her  friend.  The  flush  of  consuming 
fever  paled,  the  pulse  was  slow  and  feeble,  and  by  the  grey  light 
of  day,  Beulah  saw  that  the  face  was  strangely  changed.  For 
leveral  hours  longer  she  maintained  her  watch  ;  still,  the  doctor 
did  not  come,  and  while  she  sat  with  Clara's  fingers  clasped  in 
lien,  the  brown  eyes  opened,  and  looked  dreamily  at  hex 
Rhe  leaned  over,  and  kissing  the  wan  cheek,  asked,  eagerlf  . 

"  How  dc  you  feel,  darling  ?" 


BEULAH.  21  i 

11  Perfectly  weak  and  helpless.    How  long  have  I  been  sick  ?''' 

"  Only  a  few  days.  You  are  a  great  deal  better  now."  Sha 
tenderly  smoothed  the  silky  hair  that  clustered  in  disorder  round 
the  face.  Clara  seemed  perplexed;  she  thought  for  a  moment, 
and  said,  feebly : 

"  Have  I  been  very  ill  ?" 

«  Well — yes.  You  have  been  right  sick.  Had  some  fever 
but  it  has  left  you." 

Clara  mused  again.  Memory  came  back  slowly,  and  at  length 
she  asked  : 

"  Did  they  all  die  ?" 

"  Did  who  die  ?" 

"  All  those  down-stairs."     She  shuddered  violently. 

"Oh,  no  !  Mrs.  Hoyt  and  Willie  are  almost  well.  Try  to 
go  to  sleep  again,  Clara." 

Several  minutes  glided  by  ;  the  eyes  closed,  and  clasping 
Beulah's  fingers  tightly,  she  asked  again  : 

"  Have  I  had  any  physician  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  thought  it  would  do  no  harm,  to  have  Dr.  Asbury 
^ee  you,"  answered  Beulah,  carelessly.  She  saw  an  expression 
of  disappointment  pass  sadly  over  the  girl's  countenance  ;  and 
thinking  it  might  be  as  well  to  satisfy  her  at  once,  she  con- 
inued,  as  if  speaking  on  indifferent  topics  : 

"Dr.  Hartwell  came  home  since  you  were  taken  sick,  ana 
called  to  see  you  two  or  three  times." 

A  faint  glow  tinged  the  sallow  cheek,  and  while  a  tremor  crept 
over  her  lips,  she  said,  almost  inaudibly  : 

"  When  will  he  come  again  ?" 

"Before  long,  I  dare  say.  Indeed,  there  is  his  step  now. 
i)r.  Asbury  is  with  him." 

Fhe  had  not  time  to  say  more,  for  they  came  in  immediately 
ana  with  a  species  of  pity  she  noted  the  smile  of  pleasure  which 
curved  Clara's  mouth,  as  her  guardian  bent  down  and  spoke  to 
her.  While  he  took  her  thin  hand,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  lie? 
face,  Dr.  Asbury  looked  over  his  shoulder,  and  said  bluntly  • 


212  BEULAH. 

"  Hurrah  for  you  !  All  right  again,  as  I  thought  you  woola 
be  !  Does  your  head  ache  at  all  this  morning  ?  Feel  like  eat- 
ing half-a-dozen  partridges  ?" 

"  She  is  not  deaf,"  said  Dr.  Hartwell,  rather  shortly. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that ;  she  has  been  to  all  my  questions 
Halely.  I  must  see  about  Carter,  below.  Beulah,  child,  you  look 
the  worse  for  your  apprenticeship  to  our  profession." 

"  So  do  you,  sir,"  said  she,  smiling,  as  her  eyes  wandered  over 
his  grim  visage. 

"  You  may  well  say  that,  child.  I  snatched  about  two  hours" 
sleep  this  morning,  and  when  I  woke  I  felt  very  much  lik< 
Coleridge's  unlucky  sailor  : 

"  '  I  moved,  and  could  not  feel  my  limbs ; 

I  was  so  light — almost, 
I  thought  that  I  had  died  in  sleep, 
And  was  a  blessed  ghost.'  " 

He  hurried  away  to  another  part  of  the  house,  and  Beulac 
went  into  her  own  apartment  to  arrange  her  hair,  which  she  felt 
must  need  attention  sadly. 

Looking  into  the  glass,  she  could  not  forbear  smiling  at  the 
face  which  looked  back  at  her,  it  was  so  thin  and  ghastly;  even 
the  lips  were  colorless,  and  the  large  eyes  sunken.  She  unbound 
her  hair,  and  had  only  shaken  it  fully  out,  when  a  knock  at  her 
door  called  her  from  the  glass.  She  tossed  her  hair  all  back, 
and  it  hung  like  an  inky  veil  almost  to  the  floor,  as  she  opened 
the  door  and  confronted  her  guardian. 

"  Here  is  some  medicine,  which  must  be  mixed  in  a  tumbler  of 
water.  I  want  a  tablespoouful  given  every  hour,  unless  Clara  is 
asleep.  Keep  everything  quiet." 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  said  Beulah,  coolly 

"  That  is  all."  He  walked  off,  and  she  brushed  and  twisted 
up  her  hair,  wondering  how  long  he  meant  to  keep  up  that  freez- 
ing manner.  It  accorded  very  well  with  his  treatment  before 
bis  departure  for  the  North,  and  she  sighed  as  she  recalled  the 


BEULAH.  213 

brief  hoar  of  cordiality  which  followed  his  return.  She  i3egao 
to  perceive  that  this  was  the  way  they  were  to  meet  in  future ; 
she  had  displeased  him,  and  he  intended  that  she  should  feel  it 
Tears  gathered  in  her  eyes,  but  she  drove  them  scornfully  back, 
and  exclaimed  indignantly  : 

"  He  wants  to  rule  me  with  a  rod  of  iron,  because  I  am  iD  j 
debted  to  him  for  an  education  and  support  for  several  years  I 
As  1  hope  for  a  peaceful  rest  hereafter,  I  will  repay  him  every 
cent  he  has  expended  for  music,  drawing  and  clothing  1     I  wiJ1 
•economize  until  every  picayune  is  returned." 

The  purse  had  not  been  touched,  and  hastily  counting  the 
tontents,  to  see  that  all  the  bills  were  there,  she  relocked  the 
Irawer,  and  returned  to  the  sick-room  with  anything  but  a  calm 
face.  Clara  seemed  to  be  asleep,  and  picking  up  a  book,  Beulab 
began  to  read.  A  sick-room  is  always  monotonous  and  dreary, 
ind  long  conlinement  had  rendered  Beulah  restless  and  uncoin 
'ortable.  Her  limbs  ached — so  did  her  head,  and  continued  losa 
rf  sleep  made  her  nervous  to  an  unusual  degree.  She  longed  to 
jpen  her  melodeon  and  play  ;  this  would  have  quieted  her,  but 
Df  course  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  with  four  invalids  in  the 
touse,  and  death  on  almost  every  square  in  the  city.  She  waa 
to  longer  unhappy  about  Clara,  for  there  was  little  doubt  that, 
with  care,  she  would  soon  be  well,  and  thus  drearily  the  hours 
wore  on.  Finally,  Clara  evinced  a  disposition  to  talk.  Her 
auiw  discouraged  it,  with  exceedingly  brief  replies  ;  intimating 
that  she  would  improve  her  condition  by  going  to  sleep.  Toward 
eveirog,  Clara  seemed  much  refreshed  by  a  long  nap,  and  toob 
lomc  food  which  had  been  prepared  for  her. 

"  The  sickness  is  abating,  is  it  not,  Beulah  ?" 

"  Yes,  very  perceptibly  ;  but  more  from  lack  of  fresh  victimi 
*han  anything  else.  I  hope  we  shall  have  a  white  frost  goon." 

"  It  has  been  very  horrible  1  I  shudder  when  I  think  of  it," 
swid  Clara. 

"Then  don't  think  of  it,"  answered  her  companion. 

'•  Oh  1  how  can  I  help  it  ?     I  did  not  expect  to  live  thrcagt 


214:  BEULAH. 

it  I  was  sure  I  should  die  when  that  chill  carae  on.  You  hart 
saved  me,  dear  Beulah  I"  Tears  glistened  in  her  soft  eyes. 

"  No  ;  God  -saved  you." 

"  Through  your  instrumentality,"  replied  Clara,  raising  her 
friend's  hand  to  her  lips. 

"  Don't  talk  any  more  ;  the  doctor  expressly  enjoined  q.iiel 
for  you." 

"  I  am  glad  to  owe  my  recovery  to  him  also.  How  ni/ble  and 
good  he  is — how  superior  to  everybody  else  1"  murmured  the 
sick  girl. 

Beulah's  lips  became  singularly  compact,  but  she  offered  no 
comment.  She  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  although  so  worn 
out  that  she  could  scarcely  keep  herself  erect.  When  the  doctor 
came,  she  escaped  unobserved  to  her  room,  hastily  put  on  he/ 
bonnet,  and  ran  down  the  steps  for  a  short  walk.  It  was  per- 
fect Elysium  to  get  out  once  more  under  the  pure  sky  and 
breathe  the  air,  as  it  swept  over  the  bay,  cool,  sweet  and  invigor- 
ating. The  streets  were  still  quiet,  but  hearses  and  carts,  filled 
with  coffins,  no  longer  greeted  her  on  every  side,  and  she  walked 
for  several  squares.  The  sun  went  down,  and  too  weary  to 
extend  her  ramble,  she  slowly  retraced  her  steps.  The  buggy 
no  longer  stood  at  the  door,  and  after  seeing  Mrs.  Hoyt  and 
trying  to  chat  pleasantly,  she  crept  back  to  Clara. 

"•  Where  have  you  been  ?"  asked  the  latter. 

"  To  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  and  see  the  sun  set." 

"  Dr.  Hartwell  asked  for  you.  I  did  not  know  what  had 
become  of  you." 

"  How  do  you  feel  to-night  ?"  said  Beulah,  laying  her  hand 
softly  on  Clara's  forehead. 

"  Better,  but  very  weak.  You  have  no  idea  how  feeble  I  ana. 
Beulah,  I  want  to  know  whether  " 

"  You  were  told  to  keep  quiet,  so  don't  ask  any  questions,  foi 
I  will  not  answer  one." 

"  You  are  not  to  sit  up  to-night :  the  doctor  said  I  would  noi 
require  it." 


BEULAH.  815 

*  l*et  the  doctor  go  tack  to  the  North,  ar.d  theorize  in  V.« 
medical  conventions  ?  1  shall  sleep  here  by  your  bed,  on  tlua 
couch.  If  you  feel  worse,  call  me.  Now,  good  night  ;  -and  don't 
open  your  lips  again."  She  drew  the  couch  close  to  the  bed, 
and  shading  the  lamp,  threw  her  weary  frame  down  to  rest  ;  ere 
bug,  she  slept.  The  pestilential  storm  had  spent  its  fury. 
Daily  the  number  of  deaths  diminished  ;  gradually,  the  pall  of 
ciltnce  and  desolation  which  had  hung  over  the  city,  vanished. 
The  streets  resumed  their  usual  busy  aspect,  and  the  hum  of  life 
went  forward  once  more.  At  length,  fugitive  families  ventured 
home  again;  and  though  bands  of  crape,  grim  badges  of  bereave- 
ment, met  the  eye  on  all  sides,  all  rejoiced  that  Death  had 
removed  his  court  ;  that  his  hideous  carnival  was  over.  Clara 
regained  her  strength  very  slowly  ;  and  when  well  enough  to  quit 
her  room,  walked  with  the  slow,  uncertain  step  of  feebleness. 
On  the  last  day  of  October,  she  entered  Beulah's  apartment,  and 
languidly  approached  the  table,  where  the  latter  was  engaged  in 
drawing. 

"  Always  at  work  !  Beulah,  you  give  yourself  no  rest.  Day 
and  night,  you  are  constantly  busy." 

Apparently,  this  remark  fell  on  deaf  ears  ;  for,  without  reply* 
Ing,  Beulah  lifted  her  drawing,  looked  at  it  intently,  turned  it 
round  once  or  twice,  and  then  resumed  her  crayon. 

"  What  a  hideous  countenance  !    Who  is  it  ?"  continued  Clara. 

•'Mors" 

"  She  is  horrible  1    Where  did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it  ?w 

"  During  the  height  of  the  epidemic,  I  fell  asleep  for  a  few 
neoonds,  and  dreamed  that  Mors  was  sweeping  down,  with  ex- 
tended arms,  to  snatch  you.  By  the  clock,  I  had  not  slept  quitfl 
two  minutes,  yet  the  countenance  of  Mors  was  indelibly  stamped 
_>r.  my  memory,  and  now  I  am  transferring  it  to  paper.  You  are 
aiistaken  ;  it  is  terrible,  but  not  hideous  I"  Beulah  laid  aside 
'uer  pencil,  and  leaning  her  elbows  on  the  table,  sat,  with  her 
face  in  her  hands,  gazing  upon  the  drawing.  It  represented  the 
head  and  shoulders  of  a  winged  fema'e  ;  the  countenance  wai 


216  BELLAS. 

inflexible,  grim,  and  cadaverous.  The  large,  lurid  eyes,  had  an 
owlish  stare  ;  aud  the  outspread  pinions,  black  as  night,  made 
Uie  wan  face  yet  more  livid  by  contrast.  The  extended  haudr 
were  like  those  of  a  skeleton. 

"  What  strange  fancies  you  have.  It  makes  the  blood  curdle 
Iu  my  veins,  to  look  at  that  awful  countenance,"  said  Clara, 
•hadderingly. 

"  I  cannot  draw  it  as  I  saw  it  in  my  dre'\m  1  Cannot  do  justice 
to  my  ideal  Mors  1"  answered  Beulah,  in  a  discontented  tone,  aa 
she  took  up  the  crayon,  and  retouched  the  poppies  which  clus- 
tered in  the  sable  locks. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  do  not  attempt  to  render  it  any  more 
aorrible  !  Put  it  away,  aud  finish  this  lovely  Greek  face.  Oh, 
bow  I  envy  you  your  talent  for  music  and  drawing!  Nature 
gifted  you  rarely  1" 

"No  I  she  merely  gave  me  an  intense  love  of  beauty,  which 
constantly  impels  me  to  embody,  in  melody  or  coloring,  the  glori- 
ous images,  which  the  contemplation  of  beauty  creates  in  my 
soul.  Ala.3  1  I  am  not  a  genius.  If  I  were,  I  might  hope  to 
achieve  an  immortal  renown.  Gladly  would  I  pay  its  painful  and 
dangerous  price  1"  She  placed  the  drawing  of  Mors  in  her  port- 
folio,  and  began  to  touch  lightly  an  unfinished  head  of  Sappho. 

"  Ah,  Clara  1  how  connoisseurs  would  carp  at  this  portrait  of 
the  '  Lesbian  Muse.'  My  guardian,  for  oue,  would'  sneer 
superbly." 

"  Why,  pray  ?     It  is  perfectly  beautiful." 

"  Because,  forsooth,  it  is  110  low-browed,  swarthy  Greek.  1 
have  a  penchant  for  high,  broad,  expansive  foreheads,  which  are 
antagonistic  to  all  the  ancient  models  of  beauty.  Low  forehead 
p.haracteri/e  the  antique  ;  but  who  can  fancy  '  violet-crowned, 
aaimortal  Sappho, 

"  With  that  gloriole 

Of  ebon  hair,  on  calmed  brows," 

other  than  I  have  drawn  her  1"  She  held  up  the  paper,  and 
smiled  triumphantly. 


BEULAH.  21? 

In  truth,  it  was  a  face  of  rare  lovelines*1  ;  of  oval  outline  with 
delicate,  yet  noble  features,  whose  expression  seemed  the  reflex 
of  the  divine  afflatus.  The  uplifted  eyes  beamed  with  the  radi- 
ance of  inspiration  ;  the  full,  ripe  lips,  were  just  parted  ;  tho 
curling  hair  clustered,  with  child-like  simplicity,  round  the  classic 
hsad  ;  and  the  exquisitely  formed  hands  clasped  a  lyre. 

"  Beulah,  don't  you  think  the  eyes  are  most  too  wild  ?"  sug 
gested  Clara,  timidly. 

"What?  fora  poetess!  Remember  poesy  hath  madness  ?n 
it,"  answered  Beulah,  still  looking  earnestly  at  her  drawing. 

"  Madness  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Just  what  I  say.  I  believe  poetry  to  be  the  highest  and 
purest  phase  of  insauity.  Those  finely-strung,  curiously  nervous 
latures,  that  you  always  find  coupled  with  poetic  endowments, 
are  characterized  by  a  remarkable  activity  of  the  mental  organs; 
and  this  continued  excitement,  and  premature  development  of  the 
brain,  results  in  a  disease  which,  under  this  aspect,  the  world 
offers  premiums  for.  Though  I  enjoy  a  fine  poem  as  much  as 
anybody,  I  believe,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  it  is  the  spasmodic 
vent  of  a  highly  nervous  system,  overstrained,  diseased.  Yes, 
diseased!  If  it  does  not  result  in  the  frantic  madness  of  Lamb, 
or  the  final  imbecility  of  Southey,  it  is  manifested  in  various  other 
forms,  such  as  the  morbid  melancholy  of  Cowper,  the  bitter  mis- 
anthropy of  Pope,  the  abnormal  moodiness  and  misery  of  Byron, 
the  unsound  and  dangerous  theories  of  Shelley,  and  the  strange, 
fragmentary  nature  of  Coleridge." 

"Oh,  Beulah!  what  a  humiliating  theory!  The  poet  placed 
on  an  ignominious  level  with  the  nervous  hypochondriac!  You 
are  the  very  last  person  I  should  suppose  guilty  of  entertaining 
such  a  degraded  estimate  of  human  powers,"  interposed  Clara, 
energetically. 

"  I  know  it  is  customary  to  rave  about  Muses,  and  Parnassus, 

and  Helicon,  and  to  throw  the  charitable  mantle  of  'poetic 

idiosyncrasies'  over  all  those  dark  spots  on  poetic  discs.     All 

conceivable  and  inconceivable  eccentricities  are  pardoned,  as  tU« 

10 


218  B  £  U  L  A  H  . 

usual  concomitants  of  genius;  but  looking  into  the  home  lives  o( 
many  of  the  most  distinguished  poets,  I  have  been  painfully 
impressed  with  the  truth  of  my  very  unpoetic  theory.  Common 
sense  has  arraigned  before  her  august  tribunal  some  of  the  so« 
called  'geniuses'  of  past  ages,  and  the  critical  verdict  is,  that 
much  of  the  famous  'fine  frenzy,'  was  buna  fide  frenzy  of  a  sad- 
der nature." 

"  Do  you  think  that  Sappho's  frenzy  was  established  by  the 
Leucadian  leap  ?" 

"  You  confound  the  poetess  with  a  Sappho,  who  liv^d  later, 
and  threw  herself  into  the  sea  from  the  promontory  of  Lei:cate. 
Doubtless  she  too  had  'poetic  idiosyncrasies;'  but  her  spotless 
life,  and  I  believe  natural  death,  afford  no  indication  of  a*, 

unsound  intellect.  It  is  rather  immaterial,  however,  to" 

Benlah  paused  abruptly,  as  a  servant  entered  aid  approached 
the  table,  saying  : 

"  Miss  Clara,  Dr.  Hartwell  is  in  the  parlor,  and  wishes  to  see 
you." 

"To  see  mel"  repeated  Clara,  in  surprise,  while  a  rosy  tinge 
stole  into  her  wan  face;  "to  see  me?  No!  It  r"ust  be  you, 
Beulah." 

"  He  said  Miss  Sanders,"  persisted  the  servant,  and  Clara  left 
the  room. 

Beulah  looked  after  her,  with  an  expression  of  some  surprise; 
then  continued  pencilling  the  chords  of  Sappho's  lyre.  A  few 
minutes  elapsed,  and  Clara  returned  with  flushed  cheeks,  and  a 
emile  of  trembling  joyousness. 

"  Beulah,  do  pin  my  mantle  on  straight.  I  am  in  such  a 
hurry.  Only  think  how  kind  Dr.  Hartwell  is;  he  has  come  to 
take  me  out  to  ride;  says  I  look  too  pale,  and  he  thinks  a  rid* 
will  benefit  me.  That  will  do,  thank  you." 

She  turned  away,  but  Beulah  rose,  and  called  out: 

"Come  back  here,  and  get  my  velvet  mantle.  It  is  quu« 
eool,  and  it  will  be  a  marvellous  piece  of  management  to  ride 
cpt  for  your  her.lt^,  and  come  home  with  a  cold.  WhatJ  nf 


B  B  U  L  A  H  .  21t 

gloves  either!  Upon  my  word,  your  thoughts  muat.be  travel- 
ling over  the  bridge  Shinevad." 

"Sure  enough;  I  had  forgotten  my  gloves;  I  will  get  them 
as  I  go  down.  Good  bye."  With  the  mantle  on  her  arm,  she 
hurried  away. 

Beulah  laid  aside  her  drawing  materials,  and  prepared  for  her 
customary  evening  walk.  Her  countenance  was  clouded,  her 
lip  unsteady.  Her  guardian's  studied  coldness  and  avoidance 
pained  her,  but  it  wan  not  this  which  saddened  her  now.  She 
felt  that  Clara  was  staking  the  happiness  of  her  life  on  the  dim 
hope  that  her  attachment  would  be  returned,  She  pitied  the 
delusion,  and  dreaded  the  awakening  to  a  true  insight  into  his 
nature;  to  a  consciousness  of  the  utter  uncongeniality  which,  she 
fancied,  barred  all  thought  of  such  a  union.  As  she  walked  on, 
th^se  reflections  gave  place  to  others  entirely  removed  frcm 
Clara  and  her  guardian;  and  on  reaching  the  grove  of  pines, 
opposite  the  Asylum,  where  she  had  so  often  wandered  in  day«< 
gone  by,  she  paced  slowly  up  and  down  the  "  arched  aisles,"  a* 
she  was  wont  to  term  them.  It  was  a  genuine  October  after 
noon,  cool  and  sunny.  The  delicious  haze  of  Indian  summei 
wrapped  every  distant  object  in  its  soft,  purple  veil;  the  din? 
vistas  of  the  forest  ended  in  misty  depths;  the  very  air,  in  it* 
dreamy  languor,  resembled  the  atmosphere  which  surrounded 

"  The  mild-eyed,  melancholy  lotus-eatera  " 

cf  the  far  East.  Through  the  openings,  pale,  golden  poplars  shook 
down  their  dying  leaves,  and  here  and  there  along  the  ravine, 
crimson  maples  gleamed  against  the  background  of  dark  green 
pines.  In  every  direction,  bright-colored  leaves,  painted  with 
"autumnal  hectic,"  strewed  the  bier  of  the  declining  year. 
Beulah  sat  down  on  a  tuft  of  moss,  and  gathered  clusters  of 
golden-rod  and  purple  and  white  asters.  She  loved  these  wilo 
wood-flowers  much  more  than  gaudy  exotics  or  rare  hot- house 
plants.  They  linked  her  with  the  days  of  her  childhood,  and 
now  each  graceful  spray  of  golden-rod  seemed  a  wand  of  inemorj 


220  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

calling  up  bygone  joys,  griefs  and  fancies.  Ah,  \\hat  a  hallowing 
glory  invests  our  past,  beckoning  us  back  to  the  haunts  of  the  olden 
time  J  The  paths  our  childish  feet  trod  seem  all  angel-guarded 
and  thoruless  ;  the  songs  we  sang  then  sweep  the  harp  (f  memory, 
making  magical  melody  ;  the  words  carelessly  spoken,  now 
breathe  a  solemn,  mysterious  import  ;  and  faces  that  early  went 
down  to  the  tomb,  smile  on  us  still  with  unchanged  tenderness. 
I  Aye,  the  past,  the  long  past  is  all  fairy-land.  Where  our  little 
feet  were  bruised,  we  now  see  only  springing  flowers  ;  where 
•childish  lips  drank  from  some  Marah,  verdure  and  garlands  woo 
us  back.  Over  the  rustlihg  leaves  a  tiny  form  glided  to  Beulah'a 
side  ;  a  pure  infantine  face  with  golden  curls  looked  up  at  her, 
and  a  lisping  voice  of  unearthly  sweetness  whispered  in  the 
autumn  air.  Here  she  had  often  brought  Lilly,  and  filled  her 
baby  fingers  with  asters  and  golden-rod  ;  and  gathered  bright 
scarlet  leaves  to  please  her  childish  fancy.  Bitter  waves  had 
broken  over  her  head  since  then  ;  shadows  had  gathered  about 
her  heart.  Ob,  how  far  off  were  the  early  years  !  How  changed 
she  was  ;  how  different  life  and  the  world  seemed  to  her  now  ! 
The  flowery  meadows  were  behind  her,  with  the  vestibule  of  girl 
hood,  and  now  she  was  a  woman,  with  no  ties  to  link  her  with 
any  human  being  ;  alone,  and  dependent  only  on  herself.  Verily, 
she  might  have  exclaimed  in  the  mournful  words  of  Lamb  : 

"  All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces." 

She  sat  looking  at  the  wild-flowers  in  her  hand  ;  a  sad,  dreamy 
hgnt  filled  the  clear  grey  eyes,  and  now  and  then  her  brow  was 
ploughed  by  some  troubled  thought.  The  countenance  told  of 

(a  mind  perplexed  and  questioning.  The  "  cloud  no  bigger  than 
a  man's  hand,"  had  crept  up  from  the  horizon  of  faith,  and  now 
darkened  her  sky  ;  but  she  would  not  see  the  gathering  gloom 
shut  her  eyes  resolutely  to  the  coming  storm.  As  the  cool 
October  wind  stirred  the  leaves  at  her  feet,  and  the  scarlet  and 
gold  cloud-flakes  faded  in  the  west,  she  rose  and  walked  slowly 
homeward.  She  was  too  deeply  pondering  hei  speculative  doubti 


BEULAH.  221 

to  notice  Dr.  Hartwell's  buggy  whirling  along  the  street ;  did 
not  see  his  head  extended,  and  his  cold,  searching  glance  ;  and 
of  course  he  believed  the  blindness  intentional,  and  credited 't  t<s 
pique  or  anger.  On  reaching  home,  she  endeavored  by  singing 
a  favorite  hymn  to  divert  the  current  of  her  thoughts,  but  the 
shadows  were  gr<  wing  tenacious,  and  would  not  be  banished  sc 
easily.  "  If  a  man  die  shall  he  live  again  ?"  seemed  echoing  OD 
the  autumn  wind.  She  took  up  her  Bible  and  read  several  chap 
ters,  which  she  fancied  would  uncloud  her  mind  ;  but  in  vain 
Restlessly  she  began  to  pace  the  floor  ;  the  lamplight  gleamec 
on  a  pale,  troubled  face  After  a  time  the  door  opened,  and 
Clara  came  in.  She  took  a  seat  without  speaking,  for  she  had 
learned  to  read  Beulah's  countenance,  and  saw  at  a  glance  that 
she  was  abstracted  and  in  no  mood  for  conversation.  When  the 
tea-bell  rang,  Beulah  stopped  suddenly  in  the  middle  of  the 
room. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  asked  Clara. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  needed  a  cup  of  coffee,  that  is  all.  Will  yon 
join  me  ?" 

"  No  ;  and  if  you  take  it  you  will  not  be  able  to  close  your 
eyes." 

"  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  ride  ?"  said  Beulah,  laying  her  hand 
on  her  companion's  shoulder,  and  looking  gravely  down  into  the 
sweet  face,  which  wore  an  expression  she  had  never  seen  there 
before. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  never  forget  it  1  never  1"  murmured  Clara. 

"  I  am  glad  you  enjoyed  it ;  very  glad.  I  wish  the  color  would 
come  back  to  your  cheeks.  Riding  is  better  for  you  now  than 
walking."  She  stooped  down  and  pressed  her  lips  to  the  WM 
cheek  as  she  spoke. 

"  Did  you  walk  this  evening,  after  I  left  yon  ?" 

"  Yes." 

11  What  makes  you  look  so  grave  ?" 

11 A  great  many  causes — you  among  the  number." 

M  What  have  1  done  ?" 


222 


BEUL AH. 


"  You  are  not  so  strong  as  I  should  like  to  see  yon.  You  haT« 
a  sort  of  spiritual  look  that  I  don't  at  all  fancy." 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  soon  be  well  again."  This  was  said  with 
an  effort,  and  a  sigh  quickly  followed. 

Benlah  rang  the  bell  for  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  taking  down  4 
book,  drew  her  chair  near  the  lamp. 

"  What !  studying  already  ?"  cried  Clara,  impatiently. 

"  And  why  not  ?  Life  is  short  at  best,  and  rarely  allows  time 
to  master  all  departments  of  knowledge.  Why  should  I  not 
seize  every  spare  moment  ?" 

"Oh,  Beulah  !  though  yon  are  so  much  younger,  you  awe  me 
1  told  your  guardian  to-day  that  you  were  studying  yourself  into 
a  mere  shadow.  He  smiled,  and  said  you  were  too  willful  to  be 
advised.  You  talk  to  me  about  not  looking  well  !  You  never 
have  had  any  color,  and  lately  you  have  grown  very  thin  and 
hollow-eyed.  I  asked  the  doctor  if  he  did  not  think  you  were 
looking  ill,  and  he  said  that  you  had  changed  very  much  sracc 
the  summer.  Beulah,  for  my  sake,  please  don't  pore  over  your 
books  so  incessantly."  She  took  Beulah's  hand,  gently,  in  both 
hers. 

"  Want  of  color  is  as  constitutional  with  me  as  the  snape  of 
my  nose.  I  have  always  been  pale,  and  study  has  no  connection 
with  it.  Make  yourself  perfectly  easy  on  my  account." 

"You  are  very  willful,  as  your  guardian  says,"  cried  Clara, 
impatiently. 

"Yes,  that  is  like  my  sallow  complexion — constitutional," 
answered  Beulah,  laughing,  and  opening  a  volume  of  Carlyle  aa 
she  spoke. 

4  Oh,  Beulah,  1  don't  know  what  will  become  of  you  I"  Tean 
iprang  into  Clara's  eyes. 

"  Do  not  be  at  all  uneasy,  my  dear,  dove-eyed  Clara.  I  cat 
take  care  of  myself." 


BStJLAH  223 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

It  was  the  middle  of  November,  and  absentees,  who  had  spen 
their  summer  at  the  North,  were  all  at  home  again.  Among 
these  were  Mrs.  Asbury  and  her  two  daughters  ;  and  only  a  few 
days  after  their  return,  they  called  to  see  Beulah.  She  found 
them  polished,  cultivated,  and  agreeable  ;  and  when,  at  parting, 
the  mother  kindly  pressed  her  baud,  and  cordially  invited  her  to 
visit  them  often  and  sociably,  she  felt  irresistibly  drawn  toward 
her,  and  promised  to  do  so.  Ere  long,  there  came  a  friendly 
note,  requesting  her  to  spend  the  evening  with  them  ;  and  thus, 
before  she  had  known  them  many  weeks,  Beulah  found  herself 
established  on  the  familiar  footing  of  an  old  friend.  Universally 
esteemed  and  respected,  Dr.  Asbury's  society  was  sought  by  the 
most  refined  circle  of  the  city,  and  his  house  was  a  favorite 
resort  for  the  intellectual  men  and  women  of  the  community.  . 
Occupying  an  enviable  position  in  his  profession,  he  still  found 
leisure  to  devote  much  of  his  attention  to  strictly  literary  topics,' 
and  the  honest  frankness  and  cordiality  of  his  manners,  blended 
with  the  instructive  tone  of  his  conversation,  rendered  him  a 
general  favorite.  Mrs.  Asbury  merited  the  elevated  position^ 
which  she  so  ably  filled,  as  the  wife  of  such  a  man.  While  due  * 
attention  was  given  to  the  education  and  rearing  of  her  daugh- 
ters, she  admirably  discharged  the  claims  of  society,  and  by  a 
consister  t  adherence  to  the  principles  of  the  religion  she  pro- 
fessed, checked  by  every  means  within  her  power  the  frivolous 
excesses  and  dangerous  extremes  which  prevailed  throughotiJ 
ihe  fashionable  circles  in  which  she  moved.  Zealously,  yet 
miostentatiously,  she  exerted  herself  in  behalf  of  the  various 
charitable  institutions,  organized  to  ameliorate  the  sufferings  of 
the  poor  in  their  midst ;  and  while,  as  a  Christian,  she  conformed 
co  the  outward  observances  of  her  church,  she  faithfully  iucu] 


224  B  E  T3  L  A  H  , 

<?ated  and  practised  at  nome  the  pure  precepts  of  ardigioa, 
whose  effects  should  be  tne  proper  regulation  of  the  heart,  and 
charity  toward  the  world.  Her  parlors  were  not  the  favorite 
rendezvous  where  gossips  met  to  retail  slander.  Refined,  digni- 
fied, gentle,  and  hospitable,  she  was  a  woman  too  rarely,  alas  i 
Diet  with,  in  so-called  fashionable  circles.  Her  husband's  repu- 
tation secured  them  the  acquaintance  of  all  distinguished 
strangers,  and  made  their  house  a  great  centre  of  attraction. 
Beulah  fully  enjoyed  and  appreciated  the  friendship  thus  ten- 
dered her,  and  soon  looked  upon  Dr.  Asbury  and  his  noblq 
wife  as  counsellors,  to  whom  in  any  emergency  she  could  unhesi- 
r  tatingly  apply.  They  based  their  position  in  society  on  theii 
own  worth  ;  not  the  extrinsic  appendages  of  wealth  and  fashion, 
and  readily  acknowledged  the  claims  of  all  who  (however  hum 
ble  their  abode  or  avocation)  proved  themselves  worthy  of 
^respect  and  esteem.  In  their  intercourse  with  the  young  teacher, 
there  was  an  utter  absence  of  that  contemptible  supercilious 
condescension  which  always  characterizes  an  ignorant  and  par- 
venu aristocracy.  They  treated  her  as  an  equal  in  intrinsic 
worth,  and  prized  her  as  a  friend.  Helen  Asbury  was  older  than 
Beulah,  and  Georgia  somewhat  younger.  They  were  sweet 
tempered,  gay  girls,  lacking  their  parent's  intellectual  traits,  bu( 
sufficiently  well-informed  and  cultivated  to  constitute  them  agree- 
able companions.  Of  their  father's  extensive  library,  they  ex- 
pressed themselves  rather  afraid,  and  frequently  bantered  Beulah 
about  the  grave  books  she  often  selected  from  it.  Beulah  found 
her  school  duties  far  less  irksome  than  she  had  expected,  for  she 
loved  children,  and  soon  became  interested  in  the  individual 
members  of  her  classes.  From  eight  o'clock  until  three  she  was 
closely  occupied  ;  then  the  labors  of  the  day  were  over,  and  she 
epent  her  evenings  much  as  she  had  been  wont,  ere  the  opening 
ot  the  session.  Thus,  November  glided  quickly  away,  and  ths 
first  of  December  greeted  her,  ere  she  dreamed  of  its  apprcach, 
The  Grahams  had  not  returned,  though  daily  expected  :  and 
notwithstanding  two  months  had  elapsed  without  Eugene's  wrifc 


B  E  U  L  A  ff  .  2.< 

fag,  she  looKed  forward  with  intense  pleasure  to  his  expecto\ 
arrival  There  was  one  source  of  constant  pain  for  Ler  in  Dr 
Hariwell's  continued  and  complete  estrangement.  Except  a  cold, 
formal  bow,  in  passing,  there  was  no  intercourse  whatever  ;  and 
fihe  sorrowed  bitterly  over  this  seeming  indifference  in  one  to 
whom  she  owed  so  much  and  was  so  warmly  attached.  Remotelj 
connected  with  this  cause  of  disquiet,  was  the  painful  change  in 
Clara.  Like  a  lily  suddenly  transplanted  to  some  arid  spot,  she 
had  seemed  to  droop,  since  the  week  of  her  ride.  Gentle,  but 
hopeless  and  depressed,  she  went,  day  after  day,  to  her  duties  at 
Madame  St.  Cymon's  school,  and  returned  at  night  wearied, 
silent  and  wan.  Her  step  grew  more  feeble,  her  face  thinner 
and  paler.  Often  Beulah  gave  up  her  music  and  books,  and 
devoted  the  evenings  to  entertaining  and  interesting  her  ;  but 
i-here  was  a  constraint  and  reserve  about  her  which  could  not  be 
removed. 

One  evening,  on  returning  from  a  walk  with  Helen  Asbury. 
Beulah  ran  into  her  friend's  room  with  a  cluster  of  flowers- 
Clara  sat  by  the  fire,  with  a  piece  of  needle-work  in  her  hand  ; 
she  looked  listless  and  sad,  Beulah  threw  the  bright  golden  and 
crimson  chrysanthemums  in  her  lap,  and  stooping  down,  kissed 
her  warmly,  saying  : 

"  How  is  your  troublesome  head  ?  Here  is  a  flowery  cure  for 
you." 

"  My  head  does  not  ache  quite  so  badly.  Where  did  you 
find  these  beautiful  chrysanthemums  ?"  answered  Clara,  lan- 
guidly. 

I  stopped  to  get  a  piece  of  music  from  Georgia,  and  Helen  cut 
hem  for  me.     Oh,  what  blessed  things  flowers  are  !     They  have 
ecu  well  styled,  '  God's  under-tones  of  encouragement  V>  *he 
children  of  earth.'" 

She  was  standing  on  the  hearth,  warming  her  fingers.     Clara 
looked  up  at  the  dark,  clear  eyes  and  delicate  fixed  lips  before 
her,  and  sighed  involuntarily.     Beulah  knelt  on  the  tarpot,  and 
throwing  one  arm  around  her  companion,  said,  earnestly  : 
10* 


226  BEULAfl. 

"  My  dear  Clara,  what  saddens  you  to-night  ?  Can't  yon  tell 
me  ?"  ' 

A  hasty  knock  at  the  door  gave  no  time  for  an  answer.  A 
servant  looked  in. 

"  Is  Miss  Beulah  Benton  here  ?  There  is  a  gentleman  ic  Cm 
,>arlor  to  see  her  ;  here  is  the  card." 

Bcclah  still  knelt  on  the  floor,  and  held  out  her  hand 
.iidifferently.  The  card  was  given,  and  she  sprang  up  with  a 
cry  of  joy. 

"  Oh,  it  is  Eugene  P 

At  the  door  of  the  parlor  she  paused,  and  pressed  her  hand 
lightly  to  her  bounding  heart.  A  tall  form  stood  before  the 
$ratc,  and  a  glance  discovered  to  her  a  dark  moustache  and 
heavy  beard  ;  still  it  must  be  Eugene,  and  extending  her  arms 
unconsciously,  she  exclaimed  : 

"  Eugene  1  Eugene  !  have  yon  come  at  last  ?" 

He  started,  looked  up,  and  hastened  toward  her.  Her  anna 
iuddeuly  dropped  to  her  side,  and  only  their  hands  met  in  a 
Grm,  tight  clasp.  For  a  moment,  they  gazed  at  each  other  in 
silence,  each  noting  the  changes  which  time  had  wrought.  Then 
he  said,  slowly  : 

"I  should  not  have  known  you,  Beulah.  You  have  altered 
surprisingly."  His  eyes  wandered  wouderingly  over  her  features. 
She  was  pale  and  breathless  ;  her  lips  trembled  violently,  and 
there  was  a  strange  gleam  in  her  large,  eager  eyes.  She  did 
not  reply,  but  stood  looking  up  intently  into  his  handsome  face. 
Then  she  shivered;  the  long,  black  lashes  drooped  ;  her  white 
fingers  relaxed  their  clasp  of  his,  and  she  sat  down  on  the  sofa 
Dear.  Ah  1  her  womanly  intuitions,  infallible  as  Ithuriel's  spear, 
told  her  that  he  was  no  longer  the  Eugene  she  had  loved  so 
devotedly.  Au  iron  hand  §eemed  to  clutch  her  heart,  and  again 
a  shudder  crept  over  her,  as  he  seated  himself  beside  her, 
Baying : 

"  I  am  very  much  pained  to  find  you  here.  I  am  just  from 
Dr.  Hartwell's,  where  I  expected  to  see  you." 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  227 

He  paused,  for  something  about  her  face  rather  disconcerted 
Jrim,  and  he  took  her  hand  again  in  his. 

"  How  could  you  expect  to  find  me  there,  after  reading  013 
last  letter  ?" 

"  I  still  hoped  that  your  good  sense  would  prevent  yonr  taking 
inch  an  extraordinary  step." 

She  smiled,  icily,  and  answered  : 

"  Is  it  so  extraordinary,  then,  that  I  should  desire  to  maintain 
my  self-respect  ?"  » 

"  It  would  not  have  been  compromised  by  remaining  where 
you  were." 

"  I  should  scorn  myself,  were  I  willing  to  live  idly  on  the 
bounty  of  one  upon  whom  I  have  no  claim." 

"  You  are  morbidly  fastidious,  Beulah."  J' 

Her  eyes  flashed,  and  snatching  her  hand  from  his,  she  asked, 
with  curling  lips  :  "  Eugene,  if  I  prefer  to  teach,  for  a  support, 
why  should  you  object  ?" 

"  Simply  because  you  are  unnecessarily  lowering  yourself  in 
the  estimation  of  the  community.     You  will  find  that  the  circle,  * 
which  a  residence  under  Dr.  Hartwell's  roof  gave  you  the  entrfa 
of,  will  look  down  with  contempt  upon  a  subordinate  teacher  in 
a  public  school " 

"  Then,  thank  Heaven,  I  am  forever  shut  out  from  that 
circle  !  Is  my  merit  to  be  gauged  by  the  cost  of  my  clothes, 
or  the  number  of  fashionable  parties  I  attend,  think  you  ?" 

"  Assuredly,  Beulah,  the  things  you  value  so  lightly  are  the 
standards  of  worth  and  gentility  in  the  community  you  live  in, 
as  you  will  unfortunately  find." 

She  looked  at  him  steadily,  w;th  grief,  and  scorn,  and  wonder 
in  her  deep,  searching  eyes,  as  sie  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  Eugene  !  what  has  changed  you  so,  since  the  bygone 
years,  when,  in  the  Asylum,  we  talked  of  the  future  ?  of  labor 
Ing,  conquering,  and  earning  homes  for  ourselves  I  Oh,  has  the 
foul  atmosphere  of  foreign  lauds  extinguished  all  your  self- 
aspect  ?  Do  you  come  back  sordid  and  sycophantic,  and  th« 


228  BEULAH, 

slave  of  opinions  you  would  once  have  utterly  detestel?  Havi 
you  narrowed  your  soul,  and  bowed  down  before  the  miscrabl€ 
standard  which  every  genuine,  manly  spirit  must  loathe  ?  Oh  ! 
has  it  come  to  this  ?  Has  it  come  to  this  ?"  Her  voice  was 
broken,  and  bitter,  scalding  tears  of  shame  and  grief  gushed 
over  her  cheeks. 

"  This  fierce  recrimination  and  unmerited  tirade  is  not  exactly 
the  welcome  I  was  prepared  to  expect,"  returned  Eugene, 
haughtily;  and  rising,  he  took  his.  hat  from  the  table.  She  rose 
also,  but  made  no  effort  to  detain  him,  and  leaned  her  head 
against  the  mantelpiece.  He  watched  her  a  moment,  thec 
approached,  and  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  : 

"  Beulah,  as  a  man,  I  see  the  world  and  its  relations  in  a  far 
different  light  from  that  in  which  I  viewed  it  while  a  boy." 

"It  is  utterly  superfluous  to  tell  me  so  !"  replied  Beulah,  bit- 
terly. 

•'  I  grapple  with  realities  now,  and  am  forced  to  admit  the 
expediency  of  prudent  policy.  You  refuse  to  see  things  in  their 
tictual  existence,  and  prefer  toying  with  romantic  dreams. 
Beulah,  I  have  awakened  from  these  since  we  parted." 

She  put  up  her  hand  deprecatingly,  and  answered  : 

"  Then  let  me  dream  on  !  let  me  dream  on  1" 

"  Beulah,  I  have  been  sadly  mistaken  in  my  estimate  of  yom 
character.  I  could  not  have  believed  there  was  so  much  fierce 
obstinacy,  so  much  stubborn  pride,  in  your  nature." 

She  instantly  lifted  her  head,  and  their  eyes  met.  Other  days 
came  back  to  both  ;  early  confidence,  mutual  love  and  depend- 
ence. For  a  moment  his  nobler  impulses  prevailed,  and  with  an 
unsteady  lip,  he  passed  his  arm  quickly  around  her.  But  site 
d-'ew  coldly  back,  and  said  : 

"  It  seems  we  are  mutually  disappointed  in  each  other.  I 
regret  that  the  discharge  of  my  duty  should  so  far  conflict  with 
your  opinions  and  standard  of  propriety,  as  to  alienate  us  so 
completely  as  it  seems  likely  to  do.  All  my  life  I  have  looked  ta 
you  for  guidance  and  counsel  j  but  to-night  you  have  shaken  mj 


BEULAH.  22i 

trnit,  and  henceforth  I  must  depend  npon  my  c  wn  heart  to  sup 
port  me  in  my  work.  Oh,  Eugene  !  friend  of  my  childhood  \ 
beware,  lest  you  sink  yourself  in  your  own  estimation  I  -Oh,  fir 
days,  and  mouths,  and  years,  I  have  pictured  the  huur  of  you? 
•eturn,  little  dreaming  that  it  would  prove  one  of  the  saddest  of 
my  life  !  I  have  always  looked  up  to  you.  Oh,  Eugene 
Eugeue  !  you  are  not  what  you  were  !  Do  not  !  oh,  do  not 
make  me  pity  you  !  That  would  kill  me  1"  She  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  shuddered  convulsively. 

"  I  am  not  so  changed  as  you  think  me,"  returned  Eugene, 
proudly. 

"  Then,  in  early  years,  I  was  miserably  deceived  in  your  cha« 
racter.  For  the  sake  of  wealth,  and  what  the  world  calls  '  posi- 
tion,' you  have  sold  yourself.  In  lieu  of  his  gold  and  influence, 
Mr.  Graham  has  your  will,  your  conscience.  Ah,  Eugene  1  how 
can  you  bear  to  be  a  mere  tool  in  his  hands  ?" 

"  Beulah,  your  language,  your  insiunations  are  unpardonable  I 
By  Heaven,  no  one  but  yourself  might  utter  them,  and  not  even 
jou  can  do  so  with  impunity  !  If  you  choose  to  suffer  your 
foolish  pride  and  childish  whims  to  debar  you  from  the  enviable 
position  in  society,  which  Dr.  Hartwell  would  gladly  confer  on 
you,  why  you  have  only  yourself  to  censure.  But  my  situation 
in  Mr.  Graham's  family,  has  long  been  established.  He  has  ever 
regarded  me  as  his  son,  treated  me  as  snch,  and  as  such,  I  feel 
bound  to  be  guided  by  him  in  my  choice  of  a  profession.  Beulah, 
1  have  loved  you  well,  but  such  another  exhibition  of  scorn  and 
bitterness  will  indeed  alienate  us.  Since  you  have  set  aside  my 
views  and  counsel,  in  the  matter  of  teaching,  I  shall  not  again 
refer  to  it,  I  promise  you.  I  have  no  longer  the  wish  to  control 
jour  actions,  even  had  I  the  power.  But,  remember,  since  the 
hour  you  stood  beside  your  father's  grave,  leaning  on  me,  I  hare 
been  constantly  your  friend.  My  expostulations  were  for  what 
I  considered  your  good.  Beulah,  I  am  still,  to  you,  the  Eugene 
fjf  other  days.  It  will  be  your  own  fault,  if  the  sanctity  of  cm 
friendship  is  not  maintained." 


230  BEUIAfl. 

"  It  shall  not  bt  my  fault,  Eugene."  She.  hastily  neld  out  he! 
hand.  He  clasped  it  in  his,  and,  as  if  dismissing  the  topics  whicfc 
bad  proved  so  stormy,  drew  her  to  a  seat,  and  said,  composedly: 

"  Come,  tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing  with  yourself  these 
ong  five  years,  which  have  changed  you  so.  I  have  heard 
already  of  your  heroism  in  nursing  the  sick,  during  the  lato 
awful  season  of  pestilence  and  death." 

For  an  hour  they  talked  on  indifferent  themes,  each  feeling 
that  the  other  was  veiling  the  true  impulses  of  the  heart,  and 
finally  Eugene  rose  to  go. 

"  How  is  Cornelia's  health  now  ?"  asked  Beulah,  as  they  stood 
up  before  the  fire." 

"  About  the  same.  She  never  complains,  but  does  not  look 
iike  herself.  Apropos  !  she  intrusted  a  note  to  me,  for  you, 
which  I  had  quite  forgotten.  Here  it  is.  Miss  Dupres  is  with 
ler  for  the  winter;  at  least  a  part  of  it.  Cornelia  will  come  and 
see  you  in  a  day  or  two,  she  requested  me  to  say  ;  and  I  do  hope, 
Beulah,  that  you  will  visit  her  often ;  she  has  taken  a  great  fancy 
io  you." 

"  How  long  since  ?"  answered  Beulah,  with  an  incredulous 
smile. 

"  Since  she  met  you  at  a  concert,  I  believe.  By  the  way,  wo 
are  very  musical  at  our  house,  and  promise  ourselves  some  delight- 
ful evenings  this  winter.  You  must  hear  Antoinette  Duprea 
sing  ;  she  is  equal  to  the  best  prima-douna  of  Italy.  Do  yon 
practise  much  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  must  go.     When  shall  I  see  you  again  ?" 

"  Whenever  you  feel  disposed  to  come  ;  and  I  hope  that  will 
be  often.  Eugene,  you  were  a  poor  correspondent ;  see  that  you 
prove  a  better  visitor." 

"  Yes,  I  will.  I  have  a  thousand  things  to  say,  but  scarcelj 
fciow  where  to  commence.  You  are  always  at  home  in  the  even 
ings,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Yes,  except  occasionally  when  I  am  with  the  Asburys  " 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  231 

"  Do  you  see  much  of  them  ?" 

11  Yes,  a  good  deal." 

•'  I  am  glad  to  hear  it ;  they  move  in  the  very  first  circle 
Now.  Beulah,  don't  be  offended  if  I  ask  what  is  the  matter  with 
Dr.  Hartwell  ?  How  did  you  displease  him  ?" 

"Just  as  I  displeased  you;  by  deciding  to  teach.  Eugene,  it 
paius  me  very  much  that  he  should  treat  me  as  he  does,  but  U 
is  utterly  out  of  my  power  to  rectify  the  evil." 

"  He  told  me  that  he  knew  nothing  of  your  movements  01 
plans.  I  wish,  for  your  sake,  you  could  be  reconciled." 

"  We  will  be  some  day.  I  must  wait  patiently,"  said  she, 
with  a  sigh. 

"  Beulah,  I  don't  like  that  troubled  look  about  your  mouth: 
What  is  the  matter  ?  Can  I  in  any  way  remove  it  ?  Is  it  con 
nected  with  me,  even  remotely?  My  dear  Beulah,  do  not  shrink 
from  me." 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter  that  yon  can  rectify,"  said  she, 
gravely. 

"  Something  is  the  matter,  then,  which  I  may  not  know  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  will  not  trust  me  ?" 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  trust,  Eugene." 

"You  think  I  cannot  help  you?" 

"  You  cannot  help  me,  I  am  sure." 

"Well,  I  will  see  you  again  to-morrow;  till  then  good  bye." 
They  shook  hands,  and  she  went  back  to  her  own  room.  Cor- 
nelia's note  contained  an  invitation  to  spend  the  next  evening 
with  them ;  she  would  call  as  soou  as  possible.  She  put  it  aside, 
and  throwing  her  arms  on  the  mantelpiece,  bowed  her  head  upon 
them.  This,  then,  was  the  hour  which,  for  five  years,  she  had 
anticipated  as  an  occasion  of  unmixed  delight.  She  was  nol 
weeping;  no,  the  eyes  were  dry,  and  the  lips  firmly  fixed.  Shf 
was  thinking  of  the  handsome  face  which  a  little  while  before 
was  beside  her;  thinking,  with  keen  agony,  of  footprints  there, 
rhich  she  had  never  dreamed  of  seeing;  they  were  very  slight 


232  B  K  TJ  L  A  H  . 

(  yet  unmistakable — the  fell  signet  of  dissipation.  Above  all,  she 
read  it  in  the  eyes,  which  once  looked  so  fearlessly  into  hers. 
She  knew  he  did  not  imagine,  for  an  instant,  that  she  suspected 
it;  and  of  all  the  bitter  cups  which  eighteen  years  had  proffered, 
this  was  by  far  the  blackest.  It  was  like  a  hideous  dream,  and 
she  groaned,  and  passed  her  hand  over  her  brow,  as  if  to  sweep 
it  all  away.  Poor  Beulah  I  the  idol  of  her  girlhood  fell  from  iti 
pedestal,  and  lay  in  crumbling  ruins  at  her  feet.  In  this  hour 
*  of  rsunion,  she  saw  clearly  into  her  own  heart;  she  did  not  love 
him,  save  as  a  friend,  as  a  brother.  She  was  forced  to  perceive 
her  own  superiority;  could  she  love  a  man  whom  she  did  not 
.  revere  ?  Verily,  she  felt  now  that  she  did  not  love  Eugene. 
There  was  a  feeling  of  contempt  for  his  weakness,  yet  she  could 
not  bear  to  see  him  other  than  she  had  hoped.  How  utterly  he 
had  disappointed  her  ?  Could  it  be  possible  that  he  had  fallen 
so  low  as  to  dissipate  habitually?  This  she  would  not  believe; 
he  was  still  too  noble  for  such  a  disgraceful  course.  She  felt  a 
soft  touch  on  her  shoulder,  and  raised  her  sad,  tearless  face. 
Clara,  with  her  ethereal,  spiritual  countenance,  stood  on  the 
hearth:  "Do  I  disturb  you?"  said  she,  timidly. 

"No;  I  am  glad  you  came.  I  was  listening  to  cold,  bitter, 
bitter  thoughts.  Sit  down,  Clara;  you  look  fatigued." 

"  Oh,  Beulah  1  I  am  weary  in  body  and  spirit ;  I  have  no 
energy;  my  very  existence  is  a  burden  to  me." 

"  Clara,  it  is  weak  to  talk  so.  Rouse  yourself,  and  fulfill  the 
destiny  for  which  you  were  created." 

"  I  have  no  destiny,  but  that  of  loneliness  and  misery." 

"  Our  situations  are  similar,  yet  I  never  repine  as  you  do." 

"  You  have  not  the  same  cause.  You  are  self-reliant ;  u<  j<J 
no  society  to  conduce  to  your  happiness;  your  heart  is  bound  ip 
in  your  books." 

"  Where  yours  had  better  have  been,"  answered  Beulah.  ,'  i« 
talked  across  the  floor  several  times,  then  said  impressively  4 
Bhe  threw  her  arm  round  Clara's  waist: 

"Grush  it;  crush  it;  if  you  crush  your  heart  in  the  effort.' 


BETJ  LA  II.  233 

A  moan  escaped  Clara's  lips,  and  she  hid  her  face  agaii^t  he! 
friend's  shoulder. 

"  I  hare  known  it  since  the  night  of  your  grandfather's  death, 
uf  you  want  to  be  happy  and  useful,  crush  it  out  of  your  heart." 

"I  have  tried,  and  cannot." 

"Oh!  but  you  can.  I  tell  you  there  is  nothing  a  woman 
cannot  do,  provided  she  puts  on  the  armor  of  duty,  and 
unsheathes  the  sword  of  a  strong,  unbending  will.  Of  course, 
you  can  do  it,  if  you  will." 

"  Wait  till  you  feel  as  I  do,  Beulah,  and  it  will  not  seem  so 
light  a  task." 

"  That  will  never  happen.     If  I  live  till  the  next  geological  ' 
period,  I  never  shall  love  anybody  as  insanely  as  you  love,  1 
Why,  Clara,  don't  you  see  that  you  are  wrecking  your  happi 
ness  ?     What  strange  infatuation  has  seized  you  ?" 

"  I  know  now  that  it  is  perfectly  hopeless,"  said  Clara  calmly. 

"  You  might  have  known  it  from  the  first." 

"  No;  it  is  but  recently  that  the  barrier  has  risen." 

11  What  barrier  ?"  asked  Beulah,  curiously. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Beulah,  do  not  mock  mel  You  knov 
top  well  what  separates  us." 

"Yes;  utter  uncongeniality." 

Clara  raised  her  head,  looked  into  the  honest  face  before  her, 
and  answered: 

"  If  that  were  all,  I  could  yet  hope  to  merit  his  love;  but  you 
know  that  is  not  so.  You  must  know  that  he  has  no  love  to 
bestow." 

Beulah's  face  seemed  instantly 'steeled.  A  greyish  hue  crept 
over  it;  and  drawing  her  slender  form  to  its  full  Lnight,  she 
Replied,  with  haughty  coldness: 

"  What  do  yon  mean  ?     I  can  only  conjecture." 

"Beulah,   you  know  he  loves  you  u;   cried   Clara,    wit  ft  8   I 
strangely  quiet  smile. 

"  Clara  Sanders,  never  say  that  again  as  Jong  as  you  live  ',  far 
kher«  is  not  the  shadow  of  truth  in  it." 


2J4  BEULAH. 

"  All,  I  would  not  believe  it  till  it  was  forced  upon  me .  Thi 
heart  bars  itself  a  long  time  to  painful  truths  !  I  have  looked 
at  you,  and  wondered  whether  you  could  be  ignorant  of  what  I 
saw  so  clearly.  I  believe  you  are  honest  in  what  you  say.  I 
know  that  you  are  ;  but  it  is  nevertheless  true.  I  saw  it  the 
Evening  I  went  to  ride.  He  loves  you,  whether  you  see  it  or  not. 
/Lad*  moreover,  the  world  has  begun  to  join  your  names.  I  have 
oeard,  more  than  once,  that  he  educated  you  with  the  intention 
of  marrying  you  ;  and  recently  it  has  been  rumored  that  the 
marriage  would  take  place  very  soon.  Do  not  be  hurt  with  me, 
Beulah  1  I  think  it  is  right  that  you  should  know  all  this." 

"  It  is  utterly  false  from  beginning  to  end  !  He  never  had 
(such  a  thought !  never  1  never  !"  cried  Beulah,  striking  her 
Blenched  hand  heavily  on  the  table. 

"  Why,  then,  was  he  so  anxious  to  prevent  your  teaching  ?" 

"  Because  he  is  generous  and  kind,  and  fancied  it  was  a  life  of 
hardship,  which  I  could  escape  by  accepting  his  offer  to  adopt 
me.  Your  supposition  is  perfectly  ridiculous.  He  is  double  my 
age.  A  stern,  taciturn  man  ;  what  could  possibly  attract  him  to 
one  whom  he  looks  upon  as  a  mere  child  ?  And  moreover,  he 
is  a  worshipper  of  beauty  !  Now,  it  is  an  indisputable  fact  that 
7  am  anything  but  a  beauty  1  Oh,  the  idea  is  absurd  beyond  all 
degree.  Never  mention  it  to  me  again.  I  tell  you  solemnly, 
Clara,  your  jealous  fancy  has  run  away  with  your  common 
eeuse." 

A  sad,  incredulous  smile  flitted  over  Clara's  face,  but  she  made 
no  reply. 

"  Clara,  rouse  yourself  from  this  weak  dream.  Oh,  where  is 
your  pride — your  womanly  pride — your  self-respect  ?  Is  your 
life  to  be  aimless  and  dreary  because  of  an  unrequited  attach 
tnent  ?  Shake  it  off !  Rise  above  it  I  Destroy  it !  Oh,  it 
makes  the  blood  tingle  in  my  veins  to  think  of  your  wasting  your 
energies  and  hopes  in  love  for  one  who  is  so  utterly  indifferent  to 
you.  Much  as  I  love  you,  Clara,  had  I  the  power  to  make  you 
bis  wife  to  morrow,  I  would  rather  see  you  borne  to  your  grav* 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  235 

Fou  know  nothing  of  his  fitful,  moody  .  attire  j  his  tyrannies, 
will.  You  could  not  be  happy  with  him  ;  you  would  see  how 
utterly  unsuited  you  are." 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  the  circumstances  of  his  early  life, 
and  ill-fated  marriage  ?"  asked  Clara,  in  a  low,  pasdonleaa 
tone. 

"  No  ;  he  never  alluded  to  his  marriage  in  any  way.  Long 
as  I  lived  in  his  house  there  was  no  mention  of  his  wife's  name, 
and  I  should  never  have  known  of  his  marriage  but  from  hia 
eister." 

"  It  w-*1?  a  most  unhappy  marriage,"  said  Clara,  musingly. 

"  So  I  conjectured  from  his  studious  avoidance  of  all  allusion 
to  it." 

"  His  wife  was  very,  very  beautiful ;  I  saw  her  once  when  I 
was  a  ohild,"  continued  Clara. 

"  Of  course  she  must  have  been,  for  he  could  not  love  one  who 
was  not." 

"  She  lived  but  a  few  months  ;  yet  even  in  that  short  time 
they  had  become  utterly  estranged,  and  she  died  of  a  broken 
heart.  There  is  some  mystery  connected  with  it ;  they  wcra 
separated." 

"  Separated  1"  cried  Beulah,  in  amazement. 

"  Yes,  separated  ;  she  died  in  New  Orleans,  I  believe." 

"  And  yet  you  profess  to  love  him  !  A  man  who  broke  his 
wife's  heart,"  said  Beulah,  with  a  touch  of  scorn. 

"  No  ;  you  do  his  noble  nature  injustice.  He  is  incapable  of 
such  a  course.  Even  a  censorious  world  acquitted  him  of  un- 
kindness."  J 

"  And  heaped  contumely  on  the  unhappy  victim,  eh  ?"  rejoined 
Beulah. 

"Her  conduct  was  not  irreproachable,  it  has  been  whispered 

"  Aye,  whispered  by  slanderous  tongues  !  Not  openly  avowed, 
to  admit  of  denial  and  refutation  I  I  wonder  the  curse  of  Go- 
morrah does  not  descend  on  this  gossiping,  libellous  community." 

'  N«  one  seems  to  know  anything  definite  about  the  affair 


236  BEITLAH. 

though  I  have  often  heard  it  :ommented  upon  and  wondered 
over." 

'  Clara,  let  it  be  buried  henceforth.  Neither  you  nor  I  havs 
any  right  to  discuss  and  censure  what  neither  of  us  know  anyi 
thing  about.  Dr.  Hartwell  has  been  my  best  and  truest  frieccl 
1  love  and  honor  him  ;  his  faults  are  his  own,  and  only  his  Maker 
as  the  right  to  balance  his  actions.  Once  for  all,  let  the  sub 
ject  drop."  Beulah  compressed  her  lips  with  an  expression 
which  her  companion  very  well  understood.  Soon  after  the  lat- 
ter withdrew,  and  leaning  her  arms  on  the  table  near  her,  Beulah 
sank  into  a  reverie  which  was  far  from  pleasant.  Dismissing  the 
unsatisfactory  ..theme  of  her  guardian's  idiosyncrasies,  her 
thoughts  immediately  reverted  to  Eugene,  and  the  revolution 
which  five  years  had  effected  in  his  character. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day,  she  was  engaged  wLh 
her  drawing,  when  a  succession  of  quick  raps  at  her  door  forced 
an  impatient  "  come  in  "  from  her  lips.  The  door  opened,  and 
she  rose  involuntarily,,  as  the  queenly  form  of  Cornelia  Graham 
Btood  before  her.  With  a  slow,  stately  tread,  she  approached, 
and,  extending  her  hand,  said  unconcernedly  : 

"  I  have  waived  ceremony,  you  see,  and  come  up  to  your 
room." 

"  How  are  you  ?"  said  Beulah,  as  they  shook  hands,  and  seated 
themselves. 

"  Just  as  usual.    How  did  you  contrive  to  escape  the  plague?" 

"  By  resolving  not  to  have  it,  I  believe/' 

"  You  have  a  wan,  sickly  look.  I  think." 

"  So  have  you,  I  am  sure.  I  hoped  that  you  would  come 
home  strong  and  well."  Beulah  noted,  with  a  feeling  of  compas- 
sion, the  thin,  hollow  cheeks,  and  sunken,  yet  burning  eyes  befort 
her.  Cornelia  bit  her  lip,  and  asked,  haughtily  : 

"  Who  told  you  that  I  was  not  well  ?" 

"  Your  countenance  would  tell  me,  if  I  had  never  heard  it  froa 
others,"  replied  Beulah,  with  at.  instantaneous  recollection  of  her 
guardian's  warning. 


BEULAH.  '287 

"Did  you  teceive  my  note  yesterday?" 

"  Yes.    I  am  obliged  by  your  invitation,  but  cannot  accept  it." 

"  So  I  supposed,  and,  therefore,  came  to  make  sure  of  you 
Ton  are  too  proud  to  come,  until  all  the  family  call  upon  you, 
eh?" 

"  No  :  only  people  who  consider  themselves  inferior,  are  on 
the  watch  for  slights,  and  scrupulously  exact  the  minutest 
requirements  of  etiquette.  On  the  plane  of  equality,  these  bar- 
riers melt  away." 

As  Beulah  spoke,  she  looked  steadily  into  the  searching,  black 
eyes,  which  seemed  striving  to  read  her  soul.  An  expression  of 
pleasure  lighted  the  sallow  face,  and  the  haughty  lines  about  the 
beautiful  mouth  melted  into  a  half  smile. 

"Then  you  have  not  forgiven  my  rudeness  during  early  school 
days  ?" 

"  I  had  nothing  to  forgive.  I  bad  forgotten  the  affair,  until 
you  spoke. 

"  Then,  why  will  you  not  come  ?" 

"  For  reasons  which  would  not  oe  removed  by  a  recapitula- 
tion." 

"  And  you  positively  will  not  come  ?'' 

"  Not  this  evening.  Another  time,  I  certainly  will  come,  with 
pleasure." 

"  Say  to-morrow,  then." 

"  To-morrow,  I  shall  be  engaged." 

•'  Where  ?    Excuse  my  pertinacity." 

"  At  Dr.  Asbury's :  I  have  promised  to  practise  some  duett 
with  Helen." 

"  Do  you  play  well,  Beulah  ?   Are  you  a  goo^  musician  ?" 

"  Yes." 

Cornelia  mused  a  moment,  and  then  said,  slowly,  as  if  watch 
Ing  the  effect  of  her  question  : 

4  You  have  seen  Eugene,  of  course  ?" 

«ycs/, 

M  He  has  "hanged  very  much  in  hia  appearance,  has  he  not  T 


238  BKULAU 

"More  than  I  was  prepared  to  expect" 

"He  is  to  be  a  merchant,  like  my  father." 

"  So  he  wrote  me." 

"  You  endeavored  to  dissuade  him  from  complying  with  XD| 
father's  wishes,  did  you  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  most  earnestly,"  answered  Beulah,  gravely. 

"  Beulah  Benton,  I  like  you  1  You  are  honest  indeed.  At  last 
I  find  one  who  is."  With  a  sudden  impulse,  she  laid  her  white 
jewelled  hand  on  Beulah's.  . 

"  Is  honesty,  or  rather  candor,  so  very  rare,  Cornelia  ?" 

"  Come  out  from  your  '  loop-hole  of  retreat,'  into  the  world; 
and  you  can  easily  answer  your  own  question." 

"You  seem  to  have  looked  on  human  nature  through  misan- 
thropic lenses." 

"Yes,  I  bought  a  pair  of  spectacles,  for  which  I  paid  a  most 
ex  >rbitant  price  ;  but  they  were  labelled  'experience!'"  She 
smiled  frigidly. 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  have  enjoyed  your  tour  particularly." 

"  Yes  I  did  ;  but  one  is  glad  to  rest  sometimes.  I  may  yet 
prove  a  second  Bayard  Taylor,  notwithstanding.  I  should  like 
you  for  a  companion.  You  would  not  sicken  me  with  stereo- 
typed nonsense." 

Her  delicate  fingers  folded  themselves  about  Beulah's,  who 
could  not  bring  herself  to  withdraw  her  hand. 

"  And  sure  enough,  you  would  not  be  adopted  ?  Do  yoq 
mean  to  adhere  to  your  determination,  and  maintain  yourself  bj 
teaching  ?" 

"  I  do." 

"  And  I  admire  you  for  it !  Beulah,  you  must  get  over  your 
dislike  to  me." 

"  I  do  not  dislike  you,  Cornelia." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  negative  preference,"  returned  Cornelia, 
rather  amused  at  her  companion's  straightforward  manner.  Thee, 
with  a  sudden  contraction  of  her  brow,  she  added  : 

"  I  am  not  so  bearish  as  they  give  me  credit  for  " 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  239 

*1  never  beard  you  called  so." 

"Ah?  that  is  because  you  do  not  enter  the  enchanted  circle 
of  '  our  clique.'  During  morning  calls,  I  am  flattered,  cajoled, 
and  fawned  upon.  Their  carriages  are  not  out  of  hearing,  before 
my  friends  and  admirers,  like  hungry  harpies,  pounce  upon  mj 
character,  manners  and  appearance,  with  most  laudable  zest  and 
activity.  Wait  till  you  have  been  initiated  into  my  coterie  of 
fashionable  friends  1  Why,  the  battle  of  Marengo  was  a  farce,  in 
comparison  with  the  havoc  they  can  effect  in  the  space  of  a  morn 
ing,  among  the  characters  of  their  select  visiting  list !  What  a  pre- 
cious age  of  backbiting  we  city  belles  live  in."  She  spoke  with 
an  air  of  intolerable  scorn. 

"As  a  prominent  member  of  this  circle,  why  do  you  not 
attempt  to  rectify  this  spreading  evil  ?  You  might  effect  lasting 
good." 

"  I  am  no  Hercules,  to  turn  the  Peneus  of  reform  through  the 
Augean  realms  of  society,"  answered  Cornelia,  with  an  impatient 
gesture  ;  and  rising,  she  drew  on  her  glove.  Beulah  looked  up 
at  her,  and  pitied  the  joyless,  cynical  nature,  which  gave  an 
almost  repulsively  austere  expression  to  the  regular,  faultless! 
features. 

"  Beulah,  will  you  come  on  Saturday  morning,  and  spend  an 
hour  or  so  with  me  ?" 

"  No,  I  have  a  music  lesson  to  give  ;  but  if  you  will  be  at 
home  in  the  afternoon,  I  will  come  with  pleasure." 

"  I  shall  expect  you,  then.  You  were  drawing  when  I  came 
in;  are  you  fond  of  it?"  As  she  spoke  she  took  op  a  piece 
which  was  nearly  completed. 

"  Yes,  but  you  will  find  my  sketches  very  crude." 

"  Who  taught  you  to  draw  ?" 

"  1  have  had  several  teachers.  All  rather  indifferent,  how 
ever." 

"  Where  did  you  see  a  St.  Cecilia  ?  There  is  too  mneh 
breadth  of  brow  here,"  continued  Cornelia,  with  a  curious  glanci 
fit  the  young  teacher. 


240  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

"  Yes;  I  deviated  from  the  original  intentionally.  I  copied  it 
from  a  collection  of  heads  which  Georgia  Asbury  brought  frosa 
the  North." 

"  I  have  a  number  of  choice  paintings,  which  I  selected  in 
Europe.  Any  that  you  may  fancy  are  at  your  service  for 
models." 

"  Thank  you.  I  shall  be  glad  to  avail  myself  of  fhe 
privilege." 

"  Good  bye.     You  will  come  Saturday  ?" 

"Yes;  if  nothing  occurs  to  prevent,  I  will  come  in  the  after 
noon."  Beulah  pressed  her  offered  hand,  and  saw  her  descend 
the  steps  with  a  feeling  of  pity,  which  she  could  not  exactly 
analyze.  Passing  by  the  window,  she  glanced  down,  and  paused 
to  look  at  an  elegant 'carriage  standing  before  the  door.  The 
day  was  cold,  but  the  top  was  thrown  back,  and  on  one  of  the 
cushions  sat,  or  rather  reclined,  a  richly  dressed,  and  very 
beautiful  girl.  As  Beulah  leaned  out  to  examine  the  lovely 
stranger  more  closely,  Cornelia  appeared.  The  driver  opened 
the  low  door,  and  as  Cornelia  stepped  in,  the  young  lady,  who 
was  Miss  Dupres,  of  course,  ejaculated  rather  peevishly  : 

"  You  stayed  an  age." 

"  Drive  down  the  Bay-road,  Wilson,"  was  Cornelia's  reply,  and 
as  she  folded  her  rich  cloak  about  her,  the  carriage  was  whirled 
away. 

Beulah  went  back  to  the  fire,  warmed  her  fingers,  and 
resumed  her  drawing  ;  thinking  that  she  would  not  willingly 
change  places  with  the  petted  child  of  wealth  and  luxury. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

IT  was  a  dreary  Saturday  afternoon,  but  Beulah  wrapped  a 
warm  shawl  about  her,  and  set  out  to  pay  the  promised  visit 
The  air  was  damp  and  raw,  and  leaden,  marbled  clouds  hung  low 


BEULAH.  241 

fL  the  sky.  Mr  Graham's  house  was  situated  in  the  fashionable 
part  of  the  city,  near  Mr.  Grayson's  residence,  and  as  Beulah 
passed  the  crouching  lions,  she  quickened  her  steps,  to  escape 
the  painful  reminiscences  which  they  recalled.  In  answer  to  her 
ring,  th.3  servant  ushered  her  into  the  parlors  furnished  with 
Almost  oriental  magnificence,  and  was  retiring,  when  she  gave 
her  name. 

"  You  are  Miss  Benton,  then.  I  have  orders  to  show  you  up 
at  once  to  Miss  Cornelia's  room.  She  has  seen  no  visitors 
to-day.  This  way,  miss,  if  you  please." 

He  led  the  way,  up  an  easy,  spiral  flight  of  steps,  to  the  door 
of  a  room,  which  he  threw  open.  Cornelia  was  sitting  in  a 
large  cushioned  chair  by  the  fire,  with  a  papier-macke  writing- 
desk  beside  her,  covered  with  letters.  There  was  a  bright  fire 
In  the  grate,  and  the  ruddy  haze,  together  with  the  reflectiou 
from  the  crimson  damask  curtains,  gave  a  dim,  luxurious  aspect 
to  the  chamber,  which  in  every  respect  betokened  the  fastidious 
taste  of  a  petted  invalid.  Clad  in  a  dark  silk  robe-de-chambre, 
with  her  cheek  pressed  against  the  blue  velvet  lining  of  the 
chair,  Cornelia's  face  wore  a  sickly,  sallow  hue,  which  was  ren 
dered  more  palpable  by  her  black,  glittering  eyes  and  jetty  hair. 
She  eagerly  held  out  her  hand,  and  a  smile  of  sincere  pleasure 
parted  the  lips,  which  a  paroxysm  of  pain  seemed  to  have  just 
compressed. 

"  It  is  such  a  gloomy  day,  I  feared  you  would  not  come. 
Take  off  your  bonnet  and  shawl." 

"  It  is  not  so  gloomy  out  as  you  imagine,"  said  Beulah. 

"  What  ?  uot,  with  dull  clouds,  and  a  stiff,  raw,  northeaster  ? 
I  looked  out  of  the  window  a  while  since,  and  the  bay  looked  just 
as  I  have  seen  the  North  Sea,,  grey  and  cold.  Why  don't  you 
take  off  your  bonnet  ?" 

"  Because  I  can  only  sit  with  you  a  short  time,"  answered 
Beulah,  resisting  the  attempt  made  to  take  her  shawl. 

"  Why,  can't  you  spend  the  evening  ?"  said  Cornelia, 
frowning. 

11 


£42  B  E  U  L  A  fl 

"  I  promised  not  to  remain  more  than  an  hour." 

"  Promised  whom  ?" 

"  Clara  Sanders.  She  is  sick;  unable  to  leave  her  'ODHJ,  and 
is  lonely  when  I  am  away." 

"  My  case  is  analogous  ;  so  I  will  put  myself  on  the  charr*  JT 
list  for  once.  1  have  not  been  down-stairs  for  two  days." 

"  But  you  have  everything  to  interest  you  even  here."  re- 
turned Beulah,  glancing  around  at  the  numerous  paintings  and 
engravings  which  were  suspended  on  all  sides,  while  ivory, 
marble,  and  bronze  statuettes,  were  scattered  in  profusion  about 
the  room.  Cornelia  followed  her  glance,  and  asked,  with  a 
joyless  smile  : 

"  Do  you  suppose  those  bits  of  stone  and  canvas  satisfy 
me?" 

"  Certainly.  'A  thing  of  beauty  should  be  a  joy  forever.' 
With  all  these,  and  your  library,  surely  you  are  never  lonely/' 

"  Pshaw  1  they  tire  me  immensely.  Sometimes,  the  cramped 
positions,  and  unwinking  eyes  of  that  'holy  family'  there  over 
the  chimneypiece,  make  me  perfectly  nervous." 

"  You  must  be  morbidly  sensitive  at  such  times." 

"  Why  ?  do  you  never  feel  restless  and  dissatisfied,  with  jut 
any  adequate  reason  ?" 

"No,  never." 

"  And  yet,  you  have  few  sources  of  pleasure,"  said  Cornelia, 
in  a  musing  tone,  as  her  eyes  wandered  over  her  visitor's  plain 
attire. 

"  No  !  my  sources  of  enjoyment  are  as  varied  and  extended 
as  the  universe." 

"  I  should  like  you  to  map  theo;  Shut  up  all  day  with  a 
parcel  of  rude  stupid  children,  and  .eleased,  only  to  be  caged 
again  in  a  small  room  in  a  second-rate  boarding-house.  Really, 
I  should  fancy  they  were  limited,  indeed." 

"  No,  I  enjoy  my  brisk  walk  to  school,  in  the  morning  ;  ihf 
children  are  neither  so  dull,  nor  so  bearish  as  you  seem  to 
imagine.  I  am  attached  to  many  of  them,  and  do  not  feel  th$ 


BECLAH.  '243 

3aj  to  be  very  long  At  three,  I  hurry  Dome,  get  mj  d5n_<*, 
practise,  and  draw,  or  sew,  till  the  shadows  begin  to  iim  mj 
eyes,  then  I  walk  until  the  lamps  are  lighted,  find  numberless 
things  to  interest  me,  even  in  a  winter's  walk,  and  go  back  to 
my  room,  refreshed  and  eager  to  get  to  my  books.  Once  seated 
*ilh  them,  what  portion  of  the  earth  is  there,  that  I  may  not 
visit,  from  the  crystal  Arctic  temples  of  Odin  and  Thor,  to 
the  groves  of  Abyssinia  ?  In  this  age  of  travel,  and  cheaj: 
books,  I  can  sit  in  my  room  in  the  third  story,  and  by  my  lamp- 
light, see  all,  and  immeasurably  more,  than  you,  who  have  been 
travelling  for  eighteen  months.  WLerever  I  go,  I  find  sources 
of  enjoyment  ;  even  the  pictures  in  bookstores  give  me  plea- 
sure, and  contribute  food  for  thought ;  and  when,  as  now,  I  am 
surrounded  by  all  that  wealth  can  collect,  I  admire,  and  enjoy 
the  beauty,  and  elegance,  as  much  as  if  I  owned  it  all.  So  you 
see,  that  my  enjoyments  are  as  variod  as  the  universe  itself." 

"  Eureka  1"  murmured  Cornelia,  eyeing  her  companion  curl 
ously,  "  Eureka  1"  you  shall  have  the  tallest  case  in  the  British 
Museum,  or  Baruum's,  just  as  your  national  antipathies  may 
incline  you." 

"  WhaJ  impresses  you  as  so  singular  in  my  mod?  of  life  ?" 
asked  Beulah,  rather  dryly. 

"  Your  philosophic  contentment,  which  I  believe  you  are  too 
candid  to  counterfeit.  Your  easy  solution  of  that  great  human 
riddle,  given  the  world,  to  find  happiness.  The  Athenian  and 
Alexandrian  schools  dwindle  into  nothingness.  Commend  me  to 
your  '  categories,'  0,  Queen  of  Philosophy."  She  withdrew  her 
searching  eyes,  and  fixed  them  moodily  on  tlie  Sre,  twirling  the 
tassel  of  her  robe,  as  she  mused. 

"  You  are  most  egregiously  mistaken,  Cornelia,  if  you  have 
been  led  to  suppose,  from  what  I  said  a  moment  pinee,  that  I 
am  never  troubled  about  anything.     I  merelv  referred  to  enjoy  ] 
ments  de-rived  fro_n  various  sources,  open  alike  to  rich  and  pool  j 
There  are  Marahs  hidden  ia  every  path  ;   no   matter  whethei 
the  draught  is  taken  in  jewelled  goblets  or  unpolished  gourda." 


244  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

"Sometimes,  then,  you  are  'blued'  most  dismally,  like  thi 
balance  of  unpbilosopbic  men  and  women,  eb  ?" 

"  Occasionally,  my  mind  is  very  mucb  perplexed  and  dis 
turbed  ;  not  exactly  'blued'  as  you  express  it,  but  dimmed; 
clouded." 

"  What  clouds  it  ?  will  you  tell  me  ?"  said  Cornelia,  eagerly. 

"  The  struggle  to  see  that,  which  I  suppose  it  never  was 
intended  I  should  see." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Cornelia,  knitting  her  brows 

"Nor  would  you,  even  were  I  to  particularize." 

"  Perhaps  I  am  not  so  very  obtuse  as  you  fancy." 

"  At  any  rate,  I  shall  not  enter  into  detail,"  answered  Beulah, 
miling  quietly  at  the  effect  of  her  words. 

"  Do  you  ever  weary  of  your  books  ?"  Cornelia  leaned  for- 
ward, and  bent  a  long  searching  look  on  her  guest's  countenance 
as  she  spoke, 

"Not  of  my  books;  but  sometimes,  nay,  frequently,  of  tie 
thoughts  they  excite." 

"  A  distinction  without  a  difference,"  said  the  invalid,  coldly. 

"A  true  distinction  nevertheless,"  maintained  Beulah. 

"  Be  good  enough  to  explain  it  then." 

"  For  instance,  I  read  Carlyle  for  hours,  without  the  slightest 
sensation  of  weariness.  Midnight  forces  me  to  lay  the  book 
icluctantly  aside,  and  then  the  myriad  conjectures  and  inquiries 
which  I  am  conscious  of,  as  arising  from  those  same  pages, 
weary  me  beyond  all  degrees  of  endurance." 

"  And  these  conjectures  cloud  your  mind  ?"  said  Cornelia^ 
with  a  half  smile  breaking  over  her  face. 

"  I  did  Dot.say  so,  I  merely  gave  it  as  an  illustration  of  wha\ 
7011  professed  not  to  understand." 

"  I  see  your  citadel  of  reserve  and  mistrust  cannot  be  carried 
by  storm,"  answered  Cornelia,  petulantly. 

Before  Beulah  could  reply,  a  servant  entered,  and  addressed 
Cornelia. 

"  Xour  mother  wants  to  show  your   Paris  hat  and  veil,  and 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  245 

handsomest  point-lace  set,  to  Mrs.  Vincent,  and  Miss  Jnlia  says 
can't  she  run  up  and  see  you  a  minute  ?" 

A  sneering  smile  accompanied  the  contemptuous  answer, 
which  was  delivered  in  no  particularly  gentle  manner. 

"  This  is  the  second  time,  those  •  particular  friends '  cf  ours 
have  called  to  inspect  my  winter  outfit.  Take  down  ray  entire 
wardrobe  to  them  :  dresses,  bonnets,  mantles,  laces,  handkcis 
chiefs,  ribbons,  shawls — nay,  gloves  and  slippers,  for  there  is  a 
'  new  style '  of  catch  on  one,  and  ot  bows  and '  buckles  on  tbt 
other.  Do  you  hear  me,  Mary  ?  don't  leave  a  rag  of  my  French 
finery  behind.  Let  the  examination  be  sufficiently  complete  this 
time.  Don't  forget  the  Indian  shawl  ?vn:l  the  opera  cloak  and 
hood,  nor  that  ornamental  comb,  named  nfter  vhe  last  populuj 
danseuse  ;  and  tell  Miss  Julia  she  will  please  eyonse  ine — anothe* 
time  I  will  try  to  see  her.  Say  I  am  engaged." 

Some  moments  elapsed,  during  which  Mary  opcnec1  acd  shut  a 
number  of  drawers  and  boxes,  and  finally  disappeared^,  stagger- 
ing  beneath  a  load  of  silks,  velvets  and  laces.  As  the  dooi 
closed  behind  her,  Cornelia  smoothed  her  brow,  and  said,  apolo- 
getically : 

"  Doubtless,  it  seems  a  mere  trifle  of  accommodation  to  display 
all  that  mass  of  finery  to  their  eagerly  curious  eyes  ;  but  I 
assure  you,  that  though  I  have  not  been  at  home  quite  a  weel., 
those  things  have  vacated  their  places  at  least  twenty  times  for 
inspection  ;  and  this  ridiculous  mania  for  the  '  latest  style'  die- 
gusts  me  beyond  measure.  I  tell  you,  the  majority  of  the  womc  i 
in  this  town  think  of  nothing  else.  I  have  not  yet  looked  over 
my  wardrobe  myself.  Mother  selected  it  in  Paris,  and  I  did  not 
trouble  myself  to  examine  it  when  it  was  unpacked." 

Beulah  smiled,  but  offered  no  comment.  Cornelia  suddenly 
sank  back  in  her  chair,  and  said  hastily  : 

"  Give  me  that  vial  on  the  bureau  I     Quick  !  quick  !" 

Beulah  sprang  up  and  handed  her  the  vial,  which  she  put  ta 
her  lips.     She  was  ghastly  pale,  her  features  writhed,  and 
irops  glistened  on  her  brow,  corrugated  by  severe  pain. 


*6  BECLAH. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Cornelia  ?  Shall  I  call  you» 
m  )thcr  ?" 

"  No.  You  may  fan  mo,  if  you  will."  She  moaned  and  closed 
l>.er  eyes. 

Bfulah  seized  a  fan,  and  did  as  requested,  now  and  then 
wiping  a\vay  the  moisture  which  gathered  around  the  lips  and 
forehead.  Gradually  the  paroxysm  passed  off,  and  opening  he» 
eyes,  she  said,  wearily  : 

"  That  will  do,  thank  you.  Now  pour  out  a  glass  of  water 
from  the  pitcher  yonder." 

Benlah  handed  her  the  draught,  saying,  with  surprise  : 

"  fitting  wrapped  up  by  a  fire,  and  drinking  ice  water  !" 

"  Yes,  I  use  ice-water  the  year  round.  Please  touch  the  bell- 
rope,  will  you  ?" 

As  Beulah  resumed  her  seat,  Cornelia  added,  with  a  forced 
lavgh  : 

"  "Y  ou  look  as  if  you  pitied  me." 

"  I  io,  most  sincerely.     Do  you  suffer  in  this  way  often  ?" 

"  Yns — no — well,'  when  I  am  prudent,  I  don't."  Then  turning 
ro  the  servant,  who  stood  at  the  door,  she  continued  :  "  John, 
go  to  Dr.  Hartwell's  office  (not  his  house,  miud  you),  and  leave 
word  that  he  must  come  here  before  night.  Do  you  under- 
stand ? — shut  the  door — stop  I  send  up  some  coal." 

She  drew  her  chair  closer  to  the  fire,  and  extending  her  slip- 
pered feet  on  the  marble  hearth,  said  : 

"  I  have  suffered  more  during  the  last  three  days  than  in  six 
months  before.  Last  night  I  did  not  close  my  eyes — and  Dr 
Hartwell  must  prepare  me  some  medicine.  What  is  the  matter 
•with  Clara  Sanders  ?  She  looks  like  an  alabaster  image  !" 

"  She  has  never  recovered  entirely  from  that  attack  of  yellow 
feter  ;  and  a  day  or  two  ago,  she  took  cold,  and  has  had  con 
Btant  fever  since.  I  suppose  she  will  see  the  doctor  while  I  ani 
bere.  I  feel  anxious  about  her." 

"  She  looks  ethereal,  as  if  refined  for  a  translation  to  heaven,* 
continued  Cornelia,  musingly  ;  then  suddenly  lifting  her  head 


B  E  U  L  A  H  . 


247 


<he  listened  an  instant,  and  exclaimed,  angrily  :  "  [t  is  very 
strange  that  I  am  not  to  have  an  hour's  peace  and  enjoy men< 
with  you,  without " 

The  door  opened,  and  a  graceful  form  and  lovely  face  ap 
preached  the  fireplace.  "Miss  Benton,  •  suffer  me  to  introduce 
£.y  cousin,  Miss  Dupres,"  said  Cornelia,  very  coldly. 

The  young  lady  just  inclined  her  head,  and  proceeded  to  scan 
Beulah's  countenance  and  dress,  with  a  degree  of  cool  imperti- 
nence which  was  absolutely  amusing.  Evidently,  however,  Cor 
neiia  saw  nothing  amusing  in  this  ill-bred  stare,  for  she  pushed  a 
light  chair  impatiently  toward  her,  saying  : 

"  Sit  down,  Antoinette  !" 

She  threw  herself  into  the  seat,  with  a  sort  of  languid  grace, 
and  said,  in  the  most  musical  of  voices  : 

"  Why  would  not  you  see  Julia  Vincent  ?  She  was  so  "much 
disappointed." 

"  Simply  and  solely,  because  I  did  not  choose  to  see  her.  Be 
good  enough  to  move  your  chair  to  one  side,  if  you  please," 
snapped  Cornelia. 

"  That  was  very  unkind  in  you,  considering  she  is  so  fond  of 
you.  We  are  all  to  spend  the  evening  with  her,  next  week  : 
you,  and  your  brother,  and  I.  A  mere  'sociable,'  she  so,ys," 
She  had  been  admiringly  inspecting  her  small  hands,  loaded 
with  diamonds  ;  and  now  turning  round,  she  again  freely  scruti- 
nized Beuluh,  who  had  been  silently  contemplating  her  beautiful 
oval  profile  and  silky  auburn  curls.  Certainly,  Antoinette 
Dupres  was  beautiful,  but  it  was  such  a  beauty'  as  one  sees  in 
wax  dolls — blank,  soulless,  expressionless,  if  I  may  except  the 
predominating  expression  of  self-satisfaction.  BeulalTs  quiet 
dignity  failed  to  repel  the  continued  stare  fixed  npon  her,  am? 
gathering  up  the  folds  of  her  shawl,  she  rose. 

"  Don't  go,"  said  Cornelia,  earnestly. 

"  I  must  ;  Clara  is  alone,  and  I  promised  to  return  soon." 

"  When  will  you  come  again  ?"  Cornelia  took  her  hand,  and 
Dressed  it  warmly. 


248  BEULAH. 

"  I  really  do  not  know.     1  hope  yon  will  be  better  soon." 

"  Engenc  will  be  disappointed  :  lie  expects  you  to  spend  th« 
evening  with  us.  What  shall  I  tell  hitn  ?" 

11  Nothing." 

"  I  will  come  and  see  you,  the  very  first  day  I  can  get  out  of 
this  prison-house  of  mine.  Meantime,  if  I  send  for  you,  will  JOB 
come  and  sit  with  me  ?" 

"That  depends  upon  circumstances.  If  you  are  sick,  and 
lonely,  I  certainly  will.  Good  bye." 

"  Good  bye,  Beulah.  The  haughty  heiress  drew  the  orphan's 
face  down  to  hers,  and  kissed  her  cordially.  Not  a  little  sur- 
prised by  this  unexpected  demonstration  of  affection  in  one  so 
cold  and  stately,  Beulah  bowed  distantly  to  the  cousin,  who 
returned  the  salutation  still  more  distantly,  and  hastening  down 
the  steps,  was  glad  to  find  herself  once  more  under  the  dome  of 
sky,  grey  and  rainy  though  it  was.  The  wind  sighed  and  sobbed 
through  the  streets,  and  a  few  cold  drops  fell,  as  she  approached 
Mrs.  Iloyt's.  Quickening  her  steps,  she  ran  in  by  a  side  entrance, 
and  was  soon  at  Clara's  room.  The  door  stood  open,  and  with 
bonnet  and  shawl  in  her  hand,  she  entered,  little  prepared  to 
meet  her  guardian,  for  she  had  absented  herself,  with  the  hope 
of  avoiding  him.  He  was  sitting  by  a  table,  preparing  some 
medicine,  and  looked  up  involuntarily  as  she  came  in.  His  eyes 
lightened  instantly,  but  he  merely  said  : 

"  Good  evening,  Beulah." 

The  tone  was  less  icy  than  on  previous  occasions,  and  crossing 
the  room  at  once,  she  stood  beside  him,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  How  are  you,  sir  ?" 

He  did  not  take  the  hand,  but  looked  at  her  keenly,  and  said; 

"  You  are  an  admirable  nurse,  to  go  off  and  leave  your  sick 
friend." 

Bealah  threw  down  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  retreating  tc 
the  hearth,  began  to  warm  her  fingers,  as  she  replied,  with  indif 
ference : 

"  I  have  just  left  another  of  your  patients      Cornelia  Graham 


BETLAH.  249 

h&»  been  worse  than  usual  for  a  day  or  two.  Clara.  I  will  pu 
away  my  out-door  wrappings,  and  be  with  you  presently."  She 
retired  to  her  own  room,  and  leaning  against  the  window,  where 
the  rain  was  now  pattering  drearily,  she  murmured  faintly  : 

"  Will  he  always  treat  rne  so  ?  Have  I  lost  my  friend  for 
ever  ?  Once  he  was  so  different;  so  kind,  even  in  his  sternness  !'' 
A  te~ar  hung  upon  her  lash,  and  fell  on  her  hand  ;  she  brushed 
it  hastily  away,  and  stood  thinking  over  this  alienation,  so  pain- 
ful and  unnatural,  when  she  heard  her  guardian  close  Clara's 
door,  and  walk  across  the  hall,  to  the  head  of  the  stairs.  She 
waited  awhile,  until  she  thought  he  had  reached  his  buggy,  and 
slowly  proceeded  to  Clara's  room.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the 
floor,  and  her  hand  was  already  on  the  bolt  of  the  door,  when  a 
deep  voice  startled  her. 

"  Beulah  I" 

She  looked  up  at  him  proudly.  Resentment  had  usurped  the 
place  of  grief.  But  she  could  not  bear  the  earnest  eyes,  that 
looked  into  hers  with  such  misty  splendor  ;  and  provoked  at  her 
own  emotion,  she  asked,  coldly  : 

"  What  do  you  want,  sir  ?" 

He  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  stood  observing  her  closely 
She  felt  the  hot  blood  rush  into  her  usually  cold,  pale  face,  and, 
despite  her  efforts  to  seem  perfectly  indifferent,  her  eyelids  and 
lips  would  tremble.  His  hand  rested  lightly  on  her  shoulder,  and 
he  spoke  very  gently: 

"  Child,  have  you  been  ill?  You  look  wretchedly.  What  ails 
you,  Beulah  ?" 

"  Nothing,  sir." 

'  That  will  not  answer.    Tell  me,  child,  tell  me  !" 

"  I  tell  you  I  am  as  well  as  usual,"  cried  she,  impatiently,  yet 
her  voice  faltered.  She  was  struggling  desperately  with  her 
own  heart.  The  return  of  his  old  manner,  the  winning  tones 
of  his  voice,  affected  her  more  than  she  was  willing  he  should 
lee. 

*'  Beulah,  you  used  to  be  truthful  and  candid." 
11* 


250  B  E  D  L  A  S  . 

"  I  am  S3  still,"  she  returned,  stoutly,  though  tears  began  to 
gather  ?j  her  eyes. 

"  No,  child,  already  the  world  has  changed  you." 

A  shadow  fell  over  his  face,  and  the  sad  eyes  were  like  clouded 
stars. 

"  You  know  better,  sir  1  I  am  just  what  I  always  was  !  It  is 
/ou  who  are  so  changed  !  Once  you  were  my  friend  ;  my  gnar- 
iian  !  Once  you  were  kind,  and  guided  me  ;  but  now  yon  are 
stern,  and  bitter,  and  tyrannical  I"  She  spoke  passionately,  and 
tears,  which  she  bravely  tried  to  force  back,  rolled  swiftly  down 
her  cheeks.  His  light  touch  on  her  shoulder  tightened,  until  it 
seemed  a  hand  of  steel,  and  with  an  expression  which  she  never 
forgot,  even  in  after  years,  he  answered  : 

"Tyrannical !    Not  to  yon,  child  1" 

"  Yes,  sir,  tyrannical  I  cruelly  tyrannical  1  Because  I  dared 
to  think  and  act  for  myself,  you  have  cast  me  off —utterly  1  You 
try  to  see  how  cold  and  distant  you  can  be  ;  and  show  me  that 
you  don't  care  whether  I  live  or  die,  so  long  as  I  choose  to  be 
independent  of  you.  I  did  not  believe  that  vou  could  ever  be  so 
ungenerous  1"  She  looked  up  at  him  with  swimming  eyes.  He 
smiled  down  into  her  tearful  face,  and  asked: 

"  Why  did  you  defy  me,  child  ?' 

"  I  did  not,  sir,  until  you  treated  me  worse  than  the  servants. 
Worse  than  you  did  Charon  even." 

"  How  r 

"  How,  indeed  !  You  left  me  in  your  own  house  without  one 
word  of  good  bye,  when  you  expected  to  be  absent  an  indefinite 
time.  Did  you  suppose,  that  I  would  remain  there  an  hour 
after  such  treatment  ?" 

He  smiled  again,  and  said  in  the  low  musical  tone,  which  she 
had  always  found  so  difficult  to  resist. 

"  Come  back,  niy  child.     Come  back  to  me  1" 

"  Never,  sir  !     Nefer  1"  answered  she,  resolutely. 

A  stony  hue  sett'u-a  on  his  face  ;  the  lips  seemed  instantly 
frozen,  and  removing  lis  hand  from  her  shoulder,  he  said,  as  if 


B  £  U  L  A  H  .  251 

talking  to  a  perfect  stranger  :  "  See  that  Clara  Sanders  ueedi 
nothing  ;  she  is  far  from  being  well." 

He  left  her,  but  her  heart  conquered  for  an  instant,  and  sha 
sprang  down  two  steps,  and  caught  his  hand.  Pressing  her  fece 
against  his  arm,  she  exclaimed  brokenly  : 

"  Oh,  sir  !  do  not  ca^t  me  off  entirely  !  My  friend,  my  guar* 
dian  •  indeed,  I  have  not  deserved  this  I" 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  bowed  head,  and  said  calmly  : 

"  Fierce,  proud  spirit  1  Ah  I  it  will  take  long  years  of  trial 
and  suffering  to  tame  you.  Go,  Beulah  !  You  have  cast  your- 
self off.  It  was  no  wish,  no  work  of  mine." 

He  lifted  her  hc-ad  from  his  arm,  gently  unclasped  her  fingers, 
*nd  walked  away.  Beulah  dried  the  tears  on  her  cheek,  and  com- 
posing herself  by  a  great  effort,  returned  to  Clara.  The  latter 
still  sat  in  au  easy-chair,  and  leaned  back  with  closed  eyes. 
Beulah  made  no  effort  to  attract  her  attention,  and  sat  down 
noiselessly  to  reflect  upon  her  guardian's  words,  and  the  separa- 
tion which,  she  now  clearly  saw,  he  intended  should  be  final. 
There,  in  the  gathering  gloom  of  twilight,  sat  Clara  Sanders, 
nerving  her  heart  for  the  dreary  future  ;  solemnly  and  silently 
burying  the  cherished  hopes  that  had  irised  her  path,  and  now 
[coking  steadily  forward  to  coming  years,  she  said  to  her  droop- 
ing spirit,  "  be  strong,  and  bear  this  sorrow.  I  will  conquer  my 
own  heart."  How  is  it,  that  when  the  human  soul  is  called  to 
pass  through  a  fierce  ordeal,  and  numbing  despair  seizes  the 
faculties  and  energies  in  her  sepulchral  grasp,  how  is  it,  that 
superhuman  strength  is  often  suddenly  infused  into  the  sinking 
gpirit  ?  There  is  a  mysterious  yet  resistless  power  given,  which 
winds  up,  and  sets  again  in  motion,  that  marvellous  bit  of 
mechanism,  the  human  will  ;  that  curiously  intricate  combination 
»f  wheels  ;  that  mainspring  of  action,  which  has  baffled  the 
ingenuity  of  philosophers,  and  remains  yet  undiscovered,  behind 
the  cloudy  shrine  of  the  unknown.  Now,  there  are  times  whei 
this  human  clock  well-nigh  runs  down  ;  when  it  seems  that  voli 
don  is  dead  when  the  pas",  is  all  gilded,  the  future  all  shrouded. 


$52  BEULAH. 

and  the  soul  grows  passive,  hoping  nothing,  fearing  nothing 
Yet  when  the  slowly-swinging  pendulum  seems  about  to  lest,  eves 
then  an  unseen  hand  touches  the  secret  spring;  and  as  the  curious 
ly  folded  coil  quivers  on  again,  the  resuscitated  will  is  lifted  tri- 
umphantly back  to  its  throne.  This  new-born  power  is  t'oo, 
God.  But,  ye  wise  ones  of  earth,  tell  us  how,  and  by  whrim,  if 
the  key  applied  ?  Are  ministering  angels  (our  white-robed  idols 
our  loved  dead)  ordained  to  keep  watch-  over  the  machinery  of 
the  will,  and  attend  to  the  winding  up  ?  Or  is  this  infusion  -~>f 
strength,  whereby  to  continue  its  operations,  a  sudden  tightening 
of  those  invisible  cords,  which  bind  the  All-Father  to  the  spirits 
he  has  created  ?  Truly,  there  is  no  (Edipus  for  this  vexing  rid- 
dle. Many  luckless  theories  have  been  devoured  by  the  Sphinx' 
when  will  metaphysicians  solve  it  ?  One  tells  us  vaguely  enough, 
"who  knows  the  mysteries  of(  wilh  with  its  vigor?  Man  doth 
not  yield  him  to  the  angels,  nor  nnto  death,  utterly,  save  only 
through  the  weakness  of  his  feeble  will."  This  pretty  bubble  of 
a  "  latent  strength  "  has  vanished  ;  the  power  is  from  God  ;  but 
who  shall  unfold  the  process  ?  Clara  felt  that  this  precious  help 
was  given  in  her  hour  of  need;  and  looking  up  undauntedly  to  the 
clouds  that  darkened  her  sky,  said  to  her  hopeless  heart :  "I 
will  live  to  do  my  duty,  and  God's  work  on  earth  :  I  will  go 
bravely  forward  in  my  path  of  labor,  strewing  flowers  and  sun 
shine.  If  God  needs  a  lonely,  chastened  spirit  to  do  his  behests, 
oh  !  shall  I  murmur  and  die  because  I  am  chosen  ?  What  are 
the  rushing,  howling  waves  of  life,  in  comparison  v/ita  the  calm, 
shoreless  ocean  of  all  eternity  ?" 

The  lamp  was  brought-  in,  and  the  fire  renewed,  and  the  two 
friends  sat  by  the  hearth,  silent,  quiet.  Clara's  face  had  a  fiwcet, 
K'-ene  look  ;  Beulah's  was  composed,  so  far  as  rigidity  of  fear 
turos  betokened  ;  yet  the  firm  curve  of  her  full  upper  lip  might 
nave  indexed  somewhat  of  the  confusion  which  reigned  in  her 
mind.  Once,  a  great,  burning  light  flashed  out  from  her  eyes, 
then  the  lashes  drooped  a  little,  and  voiled  the  storm.  After  a 
lime,  Clara  lifted  her  eyes,  and  said,  gently  : 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .      ,  253 

"  Will  you  read  to  me,  Benlah  ?" 

"  Gladly,  gladly  ;  what  shall  it  be  ?"     She  sprang  up  eagerly 

"Anything  hopeful  and  strengthening  Anything  but  you! 
study-books  of  philosophy  and  metaphysics.  Anything  bat 
those,  Beulah." 

"  And  why  not  those  ?"  asked  the  girl,  quickly. 

"  Because  they  always  confuse  and  darken  me." 

"  You  do  not  understand  them,  perhaps  ?" 

"  I  understand  them  sufficiently  to  know  that  tliey  are  not 
what  I  need." 

"  What  do  you  need,  Clara  ?" 

"  The  calm  content  and  courage  to  do  my  duty  through  life.    - 
I  want  to  be  patient  and  useful." 

The  grey  eyes  rested  searchingly  on  the  sweet  face,  and  then 
with  a  contracted  brow  Beulah  stepped  to  the  window  and  looked 
out.  The  night  was  gusty,  dark  and  rainy  ;  heavy  drops  pat- 
tered briskly  down  the  panes.  She  turned  away,  and  standing 
on  the  hearth,  with  her  hands  behind  her,  slowly  repeated  the 
'beautiful  lines,  beginning : 

"  The  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness 

Falls  from  the  wings  of  night, 

As  a  feather  is  wafted  downward 

From  an  eagle  in  his  flight." 

Her  voice  was  low  and  musical,  and  as  she  concluded  the  short 
poem  whicli  seemed  so  singularly  suited  to  Clara's  wishes,  tiu 
latter  said  earnestly : 

i!  Yes,  yes,  Beulah, 

"  '  Such  songs  have  power  to  quiet 

The  restless  pulse  of  care, 

Ana  come  like  the  benediction 

That  follows  after  prayer  ' 


Urt  ns  obey  the  poet's  injunction,  and  realize  the  closing  lhw» 


254 


B  E  U  L  A  H 


"      ad  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  muwe, 

And  the  cares  that  infest  the  day, 
Shall  fold  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 
And  aa  silently  steal  away.'  " 

Still  Beulah  stood  on  the  hearth,  with  a  dreamy  ab&traoti/JB 
looking  out  from  her  eyes,  and  when  she  spoke  there  was  a  tousii 
of  impatience  in  her  tone  : 

"  Why  try  to  escape  it  all,  Clara  r  If  those  '  grand  old  ma» 
ters,'  those  '  bards  sublime,'  who  tell  us  in  trumpet-tones  of  life's 
endless  toil  and  endeavor,'  speak  to  you  through  my  loved  boots, 
why  should  you  '  long  for  rest  ?" 

"  An  unfledged  birdling  cannot  mount  to  the  dizzy  eyries  o! 
the  eagle,"  answered  Clara,  meekly. 

"  One  grows  strong  only  by  struggling  with  difficulties.  Strong 

swimmers  are  such  from  fierce  buffetiugs  with  hungry  waves. 

Come  out  of  your  warm  nest  of  inertia  !     Strengthen  your  wings 

^  by  battling  with  storm  and  wind  !"  Her  brow  bent  as  she  spoke. 

"  Beulah,  what  sustains  you  would  starve  me." 

"  Something  has  come  over  you,  Clara. 

"  Yes  ;  a  great  trust  in  God's  wisdom  and  mercy  has  stolen 
into  my  heart.  I  no  longer  look  despondingly  into  my  future." 

"  Why  ?  Because  you  fancy  that  future  will  be  very  short 
and  painless  ?  Ah,  Clara,  is  this  trust,  when  the  end  comes,  and 
•  there  is  no  more  work  to  do  ?" 

"You  are  mistaken  ;  I  do  not  see  death  beckoning  me  home. 
Oil,  I  have  not  earned  a  home  yet  !  I  look  forward  to  years  of 
labor,  profit,  and  peace.  To-day  I  found  some  lines  in  the  morn- 
ing paper.  Nay,  don't  curl  your  lips  with  a  sneer  at  what  yoo 
sail  '  newspaper  poetry.'  Listen  to  the  words  that  came  like  a 
message  from  the  spirit-land  to  my  murmuring  heart."  Hei 
Joice  was  low  and  unsteady,  as  she  read  : 

"  'Two  hands  upon  the  breast,  and  labor's  dene: 
Two  pale  feet  crossed  in  rest,  the  race  is  won. 
Two  eves  witK  coin-weights  shut,  all  tears  cease ; 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  256 

Twoljps  where  grief  is  mute,  and  wrath  at  peace. 
So  pray  we  oftentimes,  mourning  our  lot ; 
God,  in  his  kindness,  answereth  not !' 

Such,  Beulah,  I  felt  had  been  my  unvoiced  prayer  ;  but  now: 

"  '  Two  hands  to  work  addressed ;  aye,  for  Us  praise, 
Two  fee;  Viat  never  rest ;  walking  his  ways; 
Two  eyes  that  look  above,  still  through  all  tears; 
Two  lips  that  breathe  but  love  ;  never  more  fears. 
So  we  cry  afterward,  low  at  our  knees. 
Pardon  those  erring  cries  1    Father,  hear  these  P 

Oh,  Beulah,  such  is  now  my  prayer." 

As  Beulah  stood  near  the  lamp,  strange  shadows  fell  on  nei 
brow  t  shadows  from  the  long,  curling  lashes.  After  a  brief 
silence,  she  asked,  earnestly  : 

"  Are  your  prayers  answered,  Clara  ?    Does  God  hear  you  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  oh  yes  1" 

"  Wherefore  ?" 

"  Because  Christ  died  !" 

"  Is  your  faith  in  Christ  so  firm  ?    Does  it  never  waver  V 

"  Never  ;  even  in  my  most  desponding  moments." 

Beulah  looked  at  her  keenly  ;  and  asked,  with  something  like 
a  shiver  : 

"  Did  it  never  occur  to  you  to  doubt  the  plan  of  redemption, 
as  taught  by  divines  ;  as  laid  down  in  the  New  Testament  ?" 

"  No,  never.  I  want  to  die  before  such  a  doubt  o  curs  to 
me.  Oh,  what  would  ray  life  be  without  that  plan  ?  What 
would  a  fallen,  sin-cursed  world  be  without  a  Jesus  ?" 

15  But  why  curse  a  race  in  order  to  necessitate  a  Saviour  ?" 

Clara  looked  in  astonishment  at  the  pale,  fixed  features  before 
her.  A  frightened  expression  came  over  her  own  countenance, 
a  look  of  shuddering  horror  ;  and  putting  up  her  wasted  hands 
AS  if  to  ward  off  some  grim  phantom,  she  cried  : 

"  Oh,  Beulah  1  what  is  this  ?    You  are  not  an  infidel  ?" 

Her  companion  was  silei  t  a  moment  ;  then  said,  emphatically 


256  ,  B  E  C  L  A  H  . 

"  Dr.  Hartwel/  does  not  believe  the  religion  you  hold  s« 
dear."  Clara  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  answered 
brokenly  : 

"  Beulah,  I  have  envied  you  ;  because  I  fancied  that  yrai 

superior  intellect  won  you  the  love  which  I  was  weak  enough  to 

|  expect,  and  need.     But  if  it  has  brought  you  both  to  doubt  the 

1  Bible,  I  thank  God  that  the  fatal  gift  was  withheld  from  me. 

Have  your  books  and  studies  brought  you  to  this  ?    Beulah  1 

Beulah  !  throw  them  into  the  fire,  and  come  back  to  trust  in 

Christ."     She  held  out  her  hands  imploringly,  but  with  a  singu- 

»arly  coJd  smile,  her  friend  replied  : 

"  You  must  go  to  sleep.  Your  fever  Is  rising.  Don't  talk 
any  more  to-night ;  I  will  not  hear  you." 

An  hour  after,  Clara  slept  soundly,  and  Beulah  sat  in  her  own 
room  bending  over  a  book.  Midnight  study  had  long  since 
become  a,  habitual  thing;  nay,  two  and  three  o'clock,  fre- 
quently found  her  beside  the  waning  lamp.  Was  it  any 
marvel  that,  as  Dr.  Hartwell  expressed  it,  she  "  looked  wretch- 
edly." From  her  earliest  childhood,  she  had  been  possessed  by 
an  active  spirit  of  inquiry,  which  constantly  impelled  her  to 
investigate,  and  as  far  as  possible  to  explain  the  mysteries  which 
surrounded  her  on  every  side.  With  her  growth,  grew  this 
haunting  spirit,  which  asked  continually:  "What  am. I? 
Whence  did  I  come  ?  And  whither  am  I  bound  ?  What  is 
life  ?  What  is  death  ?  Am  I  my  own  mistress,  or  am  I  but  a 
tool  in  the  hands  of  my  Maker  ?  What  constitutes  the  diffe- 
rence between  my  mind,  and  my  body  ?  Is  there  any  difference  ? 
If  spirit  must  needs  have  body  to  incase  it,  and  body  must  have 
a  spirit  to  animate  it,  may  they  not  be  identical  ?  With  these 
jrimeval  foundation  questions,  began  her  speculative  career.  In 
the  solitude  of  her  own  soul,  she  struggled  bravely  and  earnestly 
to  answer  those  "  dread  questions,  which,  like  swords  of  flaming 
fire,  tokens  of  imprisonment,  encompass  man  on  earth."  Of 
course,  mystery  triumphed.  Panting  for  the  truth,  she  pored 
orer  her  Bible,  supposing  that  here,  at  least,  all  clouds  would 


BETJLAH.  2U 

melt  away;  but  nere,  too,  some  inexplicable  passages  confronted 
her.  Physically,  morally,  and  mentally,  she  found  the  world 
warring.  To  reconcile  these  antagonisms  with  the  conditions 
ai.il  requirements  of  Holy  Writ,  she  now  most  faithfully  set  to 
ifoik.  Ah,  proudly-aspiring  soul  !  How  many  earnest  thinker* 
had  essayed  the  same  mighty  task,  and  died  under  the  intoler- 
able burden  ?  Unluckily  for  her,  there  was  no  one  to  direct  or 
assist  her.  She  scrupulously  endeavored  to  conceal  her  doubts 
and  questions  from  her  guardian.  Poor  child  !  she  fancied  she 
concealed  them  so  effectually  from  his  knowledge  ;  while  he 
silently  noted  the  march  of  skepticism  in  her  nature.  There 
were  dim,  puzzling  passages  of  Scripture,  which  she  studied  on 
her  knees;  now  trying  to  comprehend  them,  and  now  beseeching 
the  Source  of  all  knowledge  to  enlighten  her.  But,  as  has  hap- 
pened to  numberless  others,  there  was  seemingly  no  assistance 
given.  The  clouds  grew  denser  and  darker,  and  like  the  "  cry 
of  strong  swimmers  in  their  agony,"  her  prayers  had  gone  up  to 
the  Throne  of  Grace.  Sometimes  she  was  tempted  to  go  to  the  ' 
minister  of  the  church,  where  she  sat  Sunday  after  Sunday,  and 
beg  him  to  explain  the  mysteries  to  her.  But  the  pompous 
austerity  of  his  manners  repelled  her  whenever  she  thought  of  ' 
broaching  the  subject,  and  gradually  she  saw  that  she  must  work 
out  her  own  problems.  Thus,  from  week  to  week,  and  mouthj 
to  month,  she  toiled  on,  with  a  slowly  dying  faith,  constantly 
clambering  over  obstacles  which  seemed  to  stand  between  her 
trust  and  revelation.  It  was  no  longer  study  for  the  sake  of 
erudition  ;  these  riddles  involved  all  that  she  prized  in  Time 
and  Eternity,  and  she  grasped  books  of  every  description  with 
the  eagerness  of  a  famishing  nature.  What  dire  chance  threw 
nto  her  hands  such  works  as  Emerson's,  Carlyle's  and  Goethe's, 
Like  the  waves  of  the  clear,  sunny  sea,  they  only  increased  her  L 
thirst  to  madness.  Her  burning  lips  were  ever  at  these  foun- 
tains ;  and  in  her  reckless  eagerness,  she  plunged  into  the  gulf 
of  German  speculation.  Here  she  believed  that  she  had  indeed 
found  the  "  true  processes/'  and  with  renewed  zest,  continued 


258  BEULAH. 

tli«  work  of  questioning.  At  this  stage  of  the  conflict,  th« 
pestilential  scourge  was  laid  upon  the  city,  and  she  paused  from 
her  metaphysical  toil  to  close  glazed  eyes  and  shroud  soulless 
clay.  In  the  awful  hush  of  those  hours  of  watching,  she  looked 
calmly  for  some  solution,  and  longed  for  the  unquestioning  faith 
of  early  years.  But  these  influences  passed  without  aiding  her 
in  the  least,  and  with' rekindled  ardor,  she  went  back  to  hot 
false  prophets.  In  addition,  ethnology  beckoned  her  on  to  con- 
.elusions  apparently  antagonistic  to  the  revealed  system,  and  the 
stony  face  of  geology  seemed  radiant  with  characters  of  light, 
which  she  might  decipher  and  find  some  security  in.  From  Dr. 
Asbury's  extensive  collection,  she  snatched  treatise  after  treatise. 
The  sages  of  geology  talked  of  the  pre-Adamic  eras,  and  of 
man's  ending  the  slowly  forged  chain,  of  which  the  radiata  form 
the  lowest  link  ;  and  then  she  was  told  that  in  those  pre-Adamic 
ages,  Palaeontologists  find  no  trace  whatever  of  that  golden 
time,  when  the  vast  animal  creation  lived  in  harmony,  and 
bloodshed  was  unknown;  ergo,  man's  fall  in  Eden  had  no  agency 
in  bringing  death  into  the  world  ;  ergo,  that  chapter  in  Genesis 
need  puzzle  her  no  more. 

Finally,  she  learned  that  she  was  the  crowning  intelligence  in 
the  vast  progression  ;  that  she  would  ultimately  become  part  of 
Deity.  "  The  long  ascending  line,  from  dead  matter  to  man, 
had  been  a  progress  Godwards,  and  the  next  advance  would 
unite  creation  and  Creator  in  one  person."  With  all  her  aspira- 
tions, she  had  never  dreamed  of  such  a  future  as  was  here 
promised  her.  To-night  she  was  closely  following  that  most 
anomalous  of  all  guides,  "  Herr  Teufelsdrockh."  Urged  on  by 
the  same  "  unrest,"  she  was  stumbling  along  dim,  devious  path*, 
while  from  every  side  whispers  came  to  her  :  "  Nature  is  one  . 
she  is  your  mother,  and  divine  :  she  is  God  1  The  '  living  gar 
ment  of  God.' "  Through  the  "  everlasting  No,"  and  the 
"  everlasting  Yea,"  she  groped  her  way,  darkly,  tremblingly, 
waiting  for  the  day-star  of  Truth  to  dawn  ;  but  at  last,  when 
she  fancied  she  saw  the  first  rays  silvering  the  night,  and  looke« 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  258 

ap  hopefully,  ir  proved  one  of  many  ignes-fatui,  which  had 
flashed  across  her  path,  and  she  saw  that  it  was  Goethe,  uplifted 
as  tl*e  prophet  of  the  genuine  religion.  The  book  fell  from  nei 
nerveless  fingers;  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  groaned.  It  was  all 
"  confusion,  worse  confounded."  She  could  not  for  her  Kfe  have 
told  what  she  believed,  much  less,  what  she  did  not  believe. 
The  landmarks  of  earlier  years  were  swept  away  ;  the  beacon 
light  of  Calvary  had  sunk  below  her  horizon.  A  howling  chaoa 
seemed  about  to  ingulf  her.  At  that  moment  she  would  gladly 
have  sought  assistance  from  her  guardian  ;  but  how  could  she 
approach  him  after  their  last  interview  ?  The  friendly  face  and 
coHial  kindness  of  Dr.  Asbury  flashed  upon  her  memory,  and 
she  resolved  to  confide  her  doubts  and  difficulties  to  him,  hoping 
to  obtain,  from  his  clear  and  matured  judgment,  some  clew  which 
mi^ht  enable  her  to  emerge  from  the  labyrinth  that  involved 
'her.  She  knelt,  and  tried  to  pray.  To  what  did  she,  on  bended 
fences,  send  up  passionate  supplications?  To  nature?  to  heroes? 
These  were  the  new  deities.  She  could  not  pray  ;  all  grew 
dark  ;  she  pressed  her  hands  to  her  throbbing  brain,  striving  to 
clear  away  the  mists.  "  Sartor "  had  effectually  blindfolded 
her,  and  she  threw  herself  down  to  sleep  with  a  shivering 
dread,  as  of  a  young  child  separated  from  its  mother,  and 
wailing  in  some  starless  desert. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

IT  was  Christmas  eve;  cold,  cloudy,  and  damp.  The  store 
windows  were  gay  with  every  conceivable  and  inconceivable 
device  for  attracting  attention.  Parents,  nurses  and  porters 
harried  along  with  mysterious  looking  bundles,  and  important 
countenances.  Crowds  of  curious,  merry  children  thronged  tht 


260  BKULAH.      ' 

sidewalks:  here  a  thinly  clad,  meagre  boy,  looked,  with 
eyes  and  empty  pockets,  at  pyramids  of  fruit  and  sweetmeats, 
and  there  a  richly  dressed  group  chattered  like  blackbirds,  ar.«? 
occasionally  fired  a  pack  of  crackers,  to  the  infinite  dismay  o! 
horses  and  drivers.  Little  chaps  just  out  of  frocks  rushed 
about,  with  their  round  rosy  faces  hid  under  grotesque  masks; 
a;id  shouts  of  laughter,  and  the  squeak  of  penny  trumpets,  and 
mutter  of  miniature  drums,  swelled  to  a  continuous  din,  which 
would  have  been  quite  respectable  even  on  the  plain  of  Shinar 
The  annual  jubilee  had  come,  and  young  and  old  seemed  deter- 
mined to  celebrate  it  with  due  zeal.  From  her  window,  Beulah 
looked  down  on  the  merry  groups,  and  involuntarily  contrasted 
the  bustling,  crowded  streets,  with  the  silence  and  desolation 
which  had  reigned  over  the  same  thoroughfares  only  a  few 
months  before.  One  brief  year  ago,  childish  voices  prattled  of 
Santa  Glaus  and  gift  stockings,  and  little  feet  pattered  along 
these  same  pavements,  with  tiny  hands  full  of  toys.  Fond 
parents,  too,  had  gone  eagerly  in  and  out  of  these  gay  shops, 
hunting  presents  for  their  darlings.  Where  were  they  ?  chil- 
\  dren  and  parents  ?  Ah  1  a  cold,  silent  band  of  sleepers  in 
yonder  necropolis,  where  solemn  cedars  were  chanting  an  ever- 
lasting dirge.  Death's  harvest  time  was  in  all  seasons;  when 
would  her  own  throbbing  pulses  be  stilled,  and  her  questioning 
tones  hushed  ?  Might  not  the  summons  be  on  that  very  wintry 
blast,  which  rushed  over  her  hot  brow  ?  And  if  it  should  be  so  ? 
Beulah  pressed  her  face  closer  to  the  window,  and  thought  it 
was  too  inconceivable  that  she  also  should  die.  She  knew  it 
was  the  common  birthright,  the  one  unchanging  heritage  of  all 
humanity;  yet  long  vistas  of  life  oper.ed  before  her,  and  though, 
like  a  pall,  the  shadow  of  the  tomb  hung  over  the  end,  it  wa« 
It'ry  distant,  very  dim. 

"What  makes  you  look  so  solemn?"  asked  Clara,  who  hatf 
oecn  busily  engaged  in  dressing  a  doll  for  one  of  Mrs.  Boyt  if 
children. 

"  Because  ]  feel  solemn,  I  suppose." 


BEULAH  26J 

Clara  came  up,  an!  passing  her  arm  round  Beulah'a  shoulder, 
grazed  down  into  the  noisy  street.  She  still  wore  mourning,  and 
the  alabaster  fairness  of  her  complexion  contrasted  vividly  with 
the  black  bombazine  dress.  Though  thin  and  pale,  there  was  an 
indescribable  expression  Of  peace  on  the  sweet  face ;  a  calm, 
?lear  light  of  contentment  in  the  mild,  brown  eyes.  The  holy 
serenity  of  the  countenance  was  rendered  more  apparent  by  the 
restless,  stormy  visage,  of  her  companion.  Every  passing  cloud 
of  perplexed  thought  cast  its  shadow  over  Beulah's  face,  and  on 
this  occasion  she  looked  more  than  usually  grave. 

"Ah!  how  merry  I  used  to  be  on  Christmas  eve.  Indeed,  I 
can  remember  having  been  half  wild  with  excitement.  Yet  now 
it  all  seems  like  a  flitting  dream."  Clara  spoke  musingly,  yet 
without  sadness. 

"  Time  has  laid  his  wonder-working  touch  upon  you,"  answered 
Beulah. 

"  How  is  it,  Beulah,  that  you  never  speak  of  your  childhood?" 

"  Because  it  was 

"  « All  dark  and  barren  as  a  rainy  sea,' " 

"  But  you  never  talk  about  your  parent0;  ?" 

"  I  love  my  father's  memory.  Ah!  it  is  enshrined  in  my  heart's 
holiest  sanctuary.  He  was  a  noble,  loving  man,  and  my  affec- 
tion for  him  bordered  on  idolatry." 

"  And  your  mother  ?" 

"  I  knew  little  of  her.  She  died  before  I  was  old  enough  to 
remember  much  about  her."  Her  face  was  full  of  bitter  recol- 
lections; her  eyes  seemed  wandering  through  some  storehouse 
of  sorrows.  Clara  feared  her  friend,  much  as  she  loved  her,  and 
avace  the  partial  discovery  of  her  skepticism,  she  had  rather 
shunned  her  society.  Now  she  watched  the  heavy  brow,  and 
deep,  piercing  eyes,  uneasily,  and  gently  withdrawing  her  arm, 
Bhe  glided  out  of  the  room.  The  tide  of  life  still  swelled  through 
the  streets,  and  forcibly  casting  the  load  of  painful  reraiuscencei 
from  her,  Beulah  kept,  her  eyes  on  the  merry  faces,  and  listened 


202  BEULAH. 

to  the  gay,  careless  prattle  of  the  excited  children.  The  statelj 
rustle  of  brocaded  silk  caused  her  to  look  up,  and  Cornelia 
Graham  greeted  her  with: 

"  T  have  come  to  take  you  home  with  me  for  the  holidays.* 

"  I  can't  go." 

"  Why  not  ?  You  cling  to  this  dark  garret  of  yours  as  if  it 
possessed  all  the  charms  of  Vaucluse." 

"Diogenes  loved  his  tub,  you  know,"  said  Beulah,  quietly. 

"  An  analogous  case,  truly.  But  jesting  aside,  you  must 
come,  Beulah.  Eugene  expects  you;  so  do  my  parents;  and, 
above  all,  I  want  you.  Come."  Cornelia  laid  her  hand  on  the 
girl's  shoulder  as  she  spoke. 

"You  have  been  ill  again,"  said  Beulah,  examining  the  sallow 
face. 

"  Not  III,  but  I  shall  be  soon,  I  know.  One  of  my  old  attacks 
is  coming  on;  I  feel  it;  and  Beulah,  to  be  honest,  which  I  can 
with  you  (without  casting  pearls  before  swine),  that  very  cir- 
cumstance makes  me  want  you.  I  dined  out  to-day,  and  have 
just  left  the  fashionable  crowd  to  come  and  ask  you  to  spend  the 
holidays  with  me.  The  house  will  be  gay.  Antoinette  intends 
to  have  a  set  of  tableaux,  but  it  is  probable  I  shall  be  confined 
to  my  room.  Will  you  give  your  time  to  a  cross  invalid,  for 
such  I  certainly  am  ?  I  would  be  stretched  upon  St.  Lawrence's 
gridiron  before  I  could  be  brought  to  say  as  much  to  anybody 
else.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  ask  favors,  Beulah;  it  has  been 
iny  habit  to  grant  them.  Nevertheless,  I  want  you,  and  am  not 
too  proud  to  come  after  you.  Will  you  come  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  I  may  remain  with  you,  altogether." 

"  Thank  you.  Come,  get  ready,  quick  1  Give  me  a  fan." 
Sinking  into  a  chair,  she  wiped  away  the  cold  drops  which  had 
collected  about  her  brow. 

"  Cornelia,  I  have  only  one  day's  "leisure.  School  begins  agaic 
Hay-  after-to-morrow." 

"  Well,  well  ;  one  day,  then.     Be  quick." 

In  a  few  moments,  Beulah  was  ready  ;  and  a'ter  informing 


B  E  U  L  A  FT  .  2o3 

Clai-a  and  Mrs.  Hoyt  cf  her  intended  absence,  the  two  entered 
Mr.  Graham's  elegant  carriage.  The  gas  was  now  lignted,  and 
the  spirited  horses  dashed  along,  through  streets  brilliantly  illunii- 
aated  and  thronged  with  happy  people. 

"  What  a  Babel  1  About  equal  to  Constantinople,  and  iti 
i  g-orchestra,"  muttered  Cornelia,  as  the  driver  paused  to  nllovi 
or.e  of  the  military  companies  to  pass.  The  martial  music, 
together  with  the  hubbub  which  otherwise  prevailed,  alarmed 
the  horses,  and  they  plunged  violently.  The  driver  endeavored 
to  back  out  into  an  alley,  but  in  the  attempt,  the  carriage  waa 
whirled  round,  the  coachman  jerked  over  the  dashboard  into  the 
gutter,  and  the  frightened  animals  dashed  at  furious  speed  down 
the  main  street.  Luckily  the  top  was  thrown  back,  making  th<f"\ 
carriage  open,  and  springing  forward  to  the  post  so  unceremo- 
niously vacated  by  the  driver,  Beulah  snatched  the  reins,  which 
were  just  within  her  reach.  Curb  the  rushing  horses,  she  did  - 
not  hope  to  do,  but  by  cautious  energy,  succeeded  in  turning 
them  sufficiently  aside  to  avoid  coming  in  collision  with  several 
other  carriages.  The  street  was  full  of  vehicles,  and  though,  as  ( 
may  well  be  imagined,  there  was  every  effort  made  to  give  the 
track,  the  carriage  rushed  against  the  bright  yellow  wheels  of  a 
light  buggy  in  which  two  young  men  were  trying  to  manage  a 
fast  trotter.  There  was  a  terrible  smash  of  wheels,  the  young 
gentlemen  were  suddenly  landed  in  the  mud,  and  their  emanci- 
pated steed  galloped  on,  with  the  wreck  of  the  buggy  at  his  heels 
Men,  women,  and  children  gathered  on  the  corners  to  witness  the 
ddnotiment.  Drays,  carts,  and  wagons  were  seized  with  a  simul 
taneous  stampede,  which  soon  cleared  the  middle  of  the  street, 
and,  uninjured  by  the  collision,  our  carriage  flew  on.  Cornelia 
sat  on  the  back  seat,  ghastly  pale,  and  motionless,  expecting 
every  minute  to  be  hurled  out,  while  Beulah  stood  up  in  front, 
reins  in  hand,  trying  to  guide  the  maddened  horses.  Her  bon- 
aet  feT.  off ;  the  motion  loosened  her  comb,  and  down  came  her 
long,  heavy  hair,  in  black,  blinding  folds.  She  shook  it  all 
hark  from  her  face,  and  soon  saw  that  this  reckless  game  nf 


2t)4  BETTLAH, 

dodging  Ychiclos  covild  not  last  much  longer.  Right  ahead,  si 
the  end  of  the  street,  was  the  wharf,  crowded  with  cotton  balea. 
barrels,  and  a  variety  of  freight ;  just  beyond  was  the  river.  A 
number  of  gentlemen  stood  on  a  neighboring  corner,  and  with 
one  impulse  they  rushed  forward  with  extended  arms.  Ch 
Sprang  the  horses,  almost  upon  them  ;  eager  hands  grasped  :u 
the  bits. 

"  Stand  back — all  of  you  1  You  might  as  well  catch  at  the 
winds  1"  shouted  Beulah,  and  with  one  last  effort,  she  threw  her 
whole  weight  on  the  reins,  and  turned  the  horses  into  a  cross 
street.  The  wheels  struck  the  curbstone,  the  carriage  tilted, 
rocked,  fell  back  again,  and  on  they  went  for  three  squares 
more,  when  the  horses  stopped  short  before  the  livery -stable 
where  they  were  kept.  Embossed  with  foam,  and  panting  like 
stags  at  .bay,  they  were  seized  by  a  dozen  hands. 

"By  all  the  gods  of  Greece  !  you  have  had  a  flying  trip  of 
it  1"  cried  Dr.  Asbury,  with  one  foot  on  the  carriage  step,  and 
both  hands  extended,  while  his  grey  hair  hung  in  confusion  about 
bis  face.  lie  had  followed  them  for  at  least  half-a-dozen  blocks, 
and  was  pale  with  anxiety. 

"  See  about  Cornelia,"  said  Beulah,  seating  herself  for  the  first 
time,  and  twisting  up  the  veil  of  hair  which  swept  round  hci 
form. 

"  Cornelia  has  fainted  1  Halloo,  there  !  some  water  !  quick  !" 
said  the  doctor,  stepping  into  the  carriage,  and  attempting  to 
lift  the  motionless  figure.  But  Cornelia  opened  her  eyes,  and 
answered  unsteadily  : 

"  No  1  carry  me  home  !     Dr.  Asbury,  take  me  home  ?" 

The  brilliant  eyes  closed,  a  sort  of  spasm  distorted  her  fea 
tare?,  and  she  sank  back  once  more,  rigid  and  seemingly  lifeless. 
!Dr.  Asbury  took  the  reins  firmly  in  his  hands,  seated  himself 
and  speaking  gently  to  the  trembling  horses,  started  homeward. 
Th  /  plunged  violently  at  first,  but  he  used  the  whip  unsparingly, 
and  in  a  few  moments  they  trotted  briskly  along.  Mrs.  Graharo 
and  her  uiece  had  not  yet  reached  home,  but  Mr  Graham  met 


BEULAH.  265 

the  carriage  at  the  door,  with  considerable  agitation  and  alarm 
in  bis  usually  phlegmatic  countenance.  As  Cornelia's  colorless 
face  met  his  view,  he  threw  up  his  hands,  staggered  back,  and 
exclaimed :  • 

'  My  God !  is  she  dead  ?  I  knew  it  would  end  this  way 
feme  day  1" 

"  Nonsense,  Graham  !  She  is  frightened  out  of  her  wits— 
that  is  all  ?  These  Yankee  horses  of  yours  have  been  playing 
the  very  deuce.  Clear  the  way  there,  all  of  you  I" 

Lifting  Cornelia  in  his  strong  arms,  Dr.  Asbury  carried  her  up 
to  her  own  room,  and  placed  her  on  a  sofa.  Having  known  her 
from  childhood,  and  treated  her  so  often  in  similar  attacks,  he 
immediately  administered  some  medicine,  and  ere  long  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  the  rigid  aspect  leave  her  face.  She  sat 
up,  and  without  a  word,  began  to  take  off  her  kid  gloves,  which 
fitted  tightly.  Suddenly  looking  up  at  her  father,  who  was 
anxiously  regarding  her,  she  said,  abruptly  : 

"  There  are  no  more  like  her — she  kept  me  from  making  a  \ 
simpleton  of  myself." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Whom  ?  whom  ?  why,  Beulah  Benton,  of  course  1  Where 
is  she  ?  Come  out  of  that  corner,  you  quaint,  solemn  statue  1" 
She  held  out  her  hand,  and  a  warm,  glad  smile  broke  over  her 
pallid  face,  as  Beulah  approached  her. 

"  You  certainly  created  a  very  decided  sensation.  Beulah 
made  quite  a  passable  Medea,  with  her  inky  hair  trailing  over 
the  back  of  the  seat,  and  her  little  hands  grasping  the  reins 
with  desperate  energy.  By  Phoebus  !  you  turned  that  corner  at 
the  bank,  like  an  electric  bolt.  Shake  hands,  Beulah  !  After 
thin,  you  will  do  in  any  emergency."  The  doctor  looked  at  her 
with  an  expression  of  paternal  pride  and  affection. 

"  I  feel  very  grateful  to  you,"  began  Mr.  Graham  ;  but  Beulah 
cut  short  his  acknowledgments,  by  saying  hastily  : 

"Sir,  I  did  nothing  at  all  ;  Dr.  Asbury  is  resolved  to  make  a 
heroine  of  me,  thn.t  is  all.    You  owe  me  nothing." 
12 


266  BEULAH. 

At  this  mom'v-nt  the  conchman  limped  into  the  rocm,  Witt 
garments  dabbled  with  mud,  and  inquired  anxiously  whether  tin 
young  ladies  were  hurt. 

"  Iso,  you  son  of  Pluto  ;  not  hurt  at  all,  thanks  to  your  care 
ful  driving,"  answered  the  doctor,  putting  his  hands  In  his  pockets, 
•ud  eyi-iug  the  discomfited  coachman  humorously. 

"  Were  you  hurt  by  your  fall  ?"  asked  Beulah. 

"  Considerable  bumped  and  thumped,  but  not  much  hurt,  thank 
you,  miss.  I  was  awfully  scared  when  I  rose  out  of  that  choking 
gutter,  and  saw  you  standing  up,  and  the  horses  flying,  like  ole 
Satan  himself  was  after  them.  I  am  marvellous  glad  nothing 
was  hurt.  And  now,  master,  sir,  I  want  you  to  go  to  the  mayo." 
and  have  this 'ere  fire-cracker-business  stopped.  A  parcel  of  ras- 
cally boys  set  a  match  to  a  whole  pack,  and  flung  'era  right 
under  Andrew  Jackson's  feet  !  Of  course  I  couldn't  manage 
him  after  that.  I  'clare  to  gracious  1  it's  a  sin  and  a  shame,  the 
way  the  boys  in  this  town  do  carry  on  Christmas  times,  and 
indeed  every  other  time  I"  Wilson  hobbled  out,  grumbling 
audibly. 

"  Beulah,  you  must  come  and  spend  Christmas  at  my  house. 
The  girls  and  my  wife  were  talking  about  it  to-day,  and  con- 
cluded to  send  the  carriage  for  you  early  in  the  morning."  The 
doctor  drew  on  his  gloves  as  he  spoke. 

"  They  may  spare  themselves  the  trouble,  sir  ;  she  spends  il 
with  me,"  answered  Cornelia. 

"  With  you  1  After  such  a  frolic  as  you  two  indulged  in  thia 
evening,  you  ought  not  to  be  trusted  together.  If  I  had  not 
been  so  anxious  about  you,  I  could  have  laughed  heartily  at  the 
doleful  countenances  of  those  two  young  gents,  as  they  picked 
themselves  up  out  of  the  mud.  Such  rueful  plight  as  their  lemon- 
colored  gloves  were  in  1  I  will  send  Ilartwcll  to  see  you  to- 
morrow, Cornelia.  A  merry  Christmas  lo  you  all,  in  spite  of  yooi 
Mazeppa  episode."  Uis  good-humored  countenance  vanished. 

"  There  comes  Antoinette  ejaculating  up  the  steps.  Father, 
tell  her  I  do  not  want  to  see  her,  or  anybody  else .  Don't  let  her 


EKTTLAH.  267 

some  in  here,"  cried  Cornelia,  with  a  nervous  start,  as  voices 
were  heard  in  the  passage. 

Mr.  Graham,  who  felt  a  certaiii  awe  of  his  willful  child,  not-  \ 
withstanding  his  equable  temper,  immediately  withdrew.     His 
wife  hastened  into  the  room,  and  with  trembling  lips  touched  her 
daughter's  cheek  and  brow,  exclaiming  : 

"  Oh,  my  child,  what  a  narrow  escape  !  It  is  horrible  to  think 
of— horrible  1" 

"  Not  at  all,  mother,  seeing  that  nothing  was  hurt  in  the  least, 
I  was  sick,  any  way,  as  I  told  you.  Don't  you  see  Beulah  sitting 
there  ?" 

Mrs.  Graham  welcomed  her  guest  cordially. 

"  You  have  a  great  deal  of  presence  of  mind,  I  believe,  Misa 
Beulah  ?  You  are  fortunate." 

"  I  thanked  my  stars  that  Antoinette  was  not  in  the  carriage, 
for  most  certainly  she  would  have  made  matters  worse,  by  scream- 
ing like  an  idiot,  and  jumping  out.  Beulah  taught  me  common 
sense,"  answered  Cornelia,  unclasping  a  bracelet,  and  tossing  a 
handful  of  jewelry  across  the  room  to  her  dressing-table. 

"  You  underrate  yourself,  my  dear,"  said  her  mother,  a  little 
proudly. 

"  Not  at  all.  Humility,  genuine  or  feigned,  is  not  one  of  our 
family  traits.  Mother,  will  you  send  up  tea  for  us  ?  We  want 
a  quiet  time  ;  at  least  I  do,  and  Beulah  will  stay  with  me." 

"  But,  my  love,  it  is  selfish  to  exclude  the  balance  of  the  family. 
Why  not  come  down  to  the  sitting-room,  where  we  can  all  be  to- 
gether ?"  pleaded  the  mother. 

"  Because  I  prefer  staying  just  whe/e  I  am.  Beulah,  put  down 
that  window,  will  you  ?  Mary  must  think  that  I  have  been  con- 
verted into  a  Polar  bear  ;  and  mother,  have  some  coal  brought 
np.  If  there  is  any  truth  in  the  metempsychosis  of  the  Orient,  J 
certainly  was  a  palm-tree  or  a  rhinoceros  in  the  last  stage  af  mj 
existence."  She  shivered,  and  wrapped  a  heavy  shawl  up  to  he! 
rery  chin. 

"  May  I  come  iu  ?"  askul  Eugene  at  the  door. 


268  B£ULAH. 

"  No  »  go  and  sing  duets  with  Netta,  and  amuse  yourseif  down 
stairs/'  said  she,  shortly,  while  a  frown  darkened  her  face. 

Nevertheless  he  came  iu,  shook  hands  with  Beulah,  and  lean 
Ing  over  the  back  of  Cornelia's  chair,  asked  tenderly  : 

"  How  is  my  sister  ?  I  heard  on  the  street  that  you  were 
irjared." 

"  Oh  I  suppose  the  whole  city  will  be  bemoaning  my  tragic 
fate,  I  am  not  at  all  hurt,  Eugene." 

'  You  have  had  one  of  those  attacks,  though,  I  see  from^your 
face.  Has  it  passed  off  entirely  ?" 

"No  ;  and  I  want  to  be  quiet.  Beulah  is  going  to  read  me  to 
sleep  after  a  while.  You  may  go  down,  now." 

"  Beulah,  you  will  be  with  us  to-morrow,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  am  obliged  to  dine  out ;  I  shall  be  at  home, 
however,  most  of  the  day.  I  called  the  other  evening,  but  you 
were  not  at  home." 

"  Yes  ;  I  was  sorry  I  did  not  see  you,"  said  Beulah,  looking 
Bteadily  at  his  flushed  face  and  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Dine  out,  Eugene  1  For  what,  I  shoukl  like  to  know?"  cried 
Cornelia,  raising  herself  in  her  chair,  and  fixing  her  eyes  impa- 
tiently upon  him. 

"  Henderson  and  Milbauk  are  both  here,  you  know,  and  I 
•ould  not  refuse  to  join  them  iu  a  Christmas  dinner." 

"Then,  why  did  you  not  invite  them  to  dine  at  your  own 
house  ?"  Her  voice  was  angry  ;  her  glance  searching. 

"  The  party  was  made  up  before  I  knew  anything  about  it, 
They  will  all  be  here  in  the  evening." 

"  I  doubt  it  1"  said  she,  sneeriugly.  The  flush  deepened  oil  his 
cheek,  and  he  bit  his  lip  ;  then  turning  suddenly  to  Bcalah,  he 
jaii,  as  he  suffered  his  cjes  to  wander  over  her  plain,  fawa 
colored  merino  dress  : 

"  You  have  not  yet  heard  Netta  sing,  I  believe  I" 

"  No." 

"  Where  is  she,  Cornelia  ?n 


B  £  C  L  A  H  .  269 

"  I  have  no  idea." 

"  I  hope  my  sister  will  be  well  enough  to  take  part  in  the 
tableaux  to-morrow  evening."  Taking  her  beautifully  molded 
baud,  he  looked  at  her  anxiously.  Her  piercing,  black  eyes  were 
riveted  on  his  countenance,  as  she  answered  : 

"  I  don't  know,  Eugene  ;  1  have  long  since  abandoned  the 
hope  of  ever  being  well  again.  Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  gel 
down  to  the  parlors.  There  is  Antoinette  in  the  passage.  Good 
night."  She  motioned  him  away.  He  kissed  her  tenderly,  shook 
hands  a  second  time  with  Beulah,  and  left  the  room.  Cornelia 
bowed  her  head  on  her  palms  ;  and  though  her  features  were 
concealed,  Benlah  thought  she  moaned,  as  if  in  pain. 

"  Cornelia,  are  you  ill  again  ?     What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

The  feeble  woman  lifted  her  haggard  face,  and  answered  : 

"  What  can  you  do  ?     That  remains  to  be  seen.     Something 
must  be  done.     Beulah,  I  may  die  at  any  hour,  and  you  must  / 
save  him." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  Beulah's  heart  throbbed  painfully, 
as  she  asked  this  simple  question. 

41  You  know  very  well  what  I  mean  !  Oh,  Beulah  !  Beulah  ' 
it  bows  my  proud  spirit  into  the  dust !"  Again  she  averted  her 
head  ;  there  was  a  short  silence.  Beulah  leaned  her  face  on  her 
hand,  and  then  Cornelia  continued  : 

"  Did  you  detect  it  when  he  first  came  home  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  it  is  like  a  hideous  nightmare  1      I  cannot  realize  that 
Eugene,  so  noble,  so  pure,  so  refined,  could  ever  have  gone  to  the 
excesses  he  has  been  guilty  of.     He  left  home  all  that  he  should 
be  ;  but  five  years  abroad  have  strangely  changed   him.     My 
parents  will  not  see  it  ;  ray  mother  says  '  all  young  men  are  wild 
at  first  ;'  and  my  father  shuts  his  eyes  to  his  altered  habits. 
Eugene  constantly  drinks  too  much,     I   have  never  seen  him! 
intoxicated.     I  don't  know  that  he  has  been,  since  he  joined  of  \ 
in  Italy,  but  I  dread,  continually,  lest  his  miserable  associatei 
lead  him  further  astray.     I  had  hoped  that,  in  leaving  tis  conj 


270  B  E  TJ  L  A  H  . 

panions  at  the  university,  he  had  left  temptation  too  ;  bat  thi 
associates  he  has  found  here  are  even  worse.     I  hope  I  shall  be 
quiet  in  my  grave,  before  I  see  him  drunk  !     It  would  kill  me,  1 
verily  believe,  to  know  that  he  had  so  utterly  degraded  himself 
She  shaded  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  Beulah  replied,  hastily 
"  lie  surely  cannot  fall  so  low  1     Eugene  will  never  reel  home 
an  unconscious  drunkard  1    Oh,  no,  it  is  impossible  !  impossible 
The  stars  in  heaven  will  fall  first  1" 
"  Do  you  believe  what  you  say  ?" 

"  I  hope  it  ;  and  hope  engenders  faith,"  answered  Beulah. 
A  bitter  smile  curled  Cornelia's  lips,  and  sinking  back  in  hei 
chair,  she  continued  : 

"Where  excessive  drinking  is  not  considered  a  disgrace,  young 
men  indulge,  without  a  thought  of  the  consequences.  Instead  of 
excluding  them  frorc  genteel  circles,  their  dissipation  is  smoothed 
over,  or  unnoticed  ;  and  it  has  become  so  prevalent  in  this  city 
that  of  all  the  gentlemen  whom  I  meet  in  so-called  fashionable 
Bocicty,  there  are  very  few  who  abstain  from  the  wine-cup.  I 
have  seen  them  at  parties,  staggering  through  a  quadrille,  or 
talking  the  most  disgusting  nonsense  to  girls,  who  have  long 
since  ceased  to  regard  dissipation  as  a  stigma  upon  the  names  and 
characters  of  their  friends.  I  tell  you,  the  dissipation  of  the 
young  men  here,  is  sickening  to  think  of.  Since  I  came  home,  I 
have  been  constantly  reminded  of  it  ;  and  oh,  Eugene  is  follow- 
ing iu  their  disgraceful  steps!  Beulah,  if  the  wives,  and  mothers, 
and  sisters,  did  their  duty,  all  this  might  be  remedied.  If  they 
carefully  and  constantly  strove  to  shield  their  sons  and  brothers 
from  temptation,  they  might  preserve  them  from  the  fatal  habit, 
which,  one?  confirmed,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  eradicate  But 
alas  !  they  smile  as  sweetly  upon  the  reckless,  intoxicated  beaux 
as  if  they  were  what  men  should  be.  I  fancied  that  I  could  rea 
dily  redeem  Eugene  from  his  dangerous  lapses,  but  my  efforts 
are  rendered  useless  by  the  temptations  which  assail  him  from 
every  quarter.  He  shuns  me  ;  hourly  the  barriers  between  an 
strengthen.  Beulab,  I  lo)k  to  you.  He  loves  you,  acd  yow 


BECLAH.  271 

niflaence  might  prevail,  if  properly  directed.  You  must  nave 
him  I  You  must  1" 

"  I  have  not  the  influence  you  ascribe  to  me,"  answered 
Bculah. 

"  Do  not  say  so  !  do  not  say  so  I  Are  you  not  to  be  his  wif 
one  day  ?"  She  stood  up,  and  heavy  drops  glistened  on  her 
pale  forehead. 

"  His  wife  !  Cornelia  Graham,  are  you  mad  ?"  cried  Beulah, 
lifting  her  head  proudly,  and  eyeing  her  companion  with  un- 
feigned astonishment,  while  her  eyes  burned  ominously. 

"  He  told  me  that  he  expected  to  marry  you  ;  that  it  haa 
always  been  a  settled  thing.  Beulah,  you  have  not  broken  the 
engagement — surely  you  have  not  ?"  She  grasped  Beulah's  arm 
convulsively. 

"  No  positive  engagement  ever  existed.  While  we  were  child- 
ren, we  often  spoke  of  our  future  as  one,  but  of  late,  neither  of 
us  have  alluded  to  the  subject.  We  are  only  friends,  linked 
by  memories  of  early  years.  Nay,  since  his  return,  we  have 
almost  become  strangers." 

"  Then  I  have  been  miserably  deceived.  Not  two  months 
since,  he  told  me  that  he  looked  upon  you  as  his  future  wife. 
What  has  alienated  you  ?  Beulah  Benton,  do  you  not  love 
him  ?" 

"  Love  him  I     No  1" 

"  You  loved  him  once — hush  I  don't  deny  it  I  I  know  that 
you  did.  You  loved  him  during  his  absence,  and  you  must  love 
him  still.  Beulah,  you  do  love  him  1" 

"  I  have  a  true  sisterly  affection  for  him  ;  but  as  for  the  Icve, 
which  you  allude  to,  I  tell  you,  Cornelia,  I  have  not  one  pa*- 
licle  1* 

"Then  he  is  lost  1"  Sinking  back  in  her  chair,  Cv»rncli» 
groaned  aloud. 

"  Why  Eugene  should  have  made  such  an  impression  on  your 
mind,  I  cannot  conjecture.  He  has  grown  perfectly  indifferent 
to  me  ;  and  even  if  he  had  not,  we  could  never  be  more  than 


2T2  B  E  U  L  A  H. 

friends.  Boyish  fancies  have  all  passed  away  He  is  a  rim 
now — still  my  friend,  I  believe  ;  but  no  longer  \\  hat  he  once  wag 
to  me.  Cornelia,  I,  too,  see  his  growing  tendency  to  dissipation, 
with  a  degree  of  painful  apprehension,  which  I  do  not  hesitate 
to  avow.  Though  cordial  enough  when  we  meet,  I  know  and 
feel  that,  he  carefully  avoids  me.  Consequently,  I  have  no  oppor- 
tunity to  exert  what  little  influence  I  may  possess.  I  looked  &\ 
his  flushed  face,  just  now,  and  my  thoughts  flew  back  to  tht 
golden  days  of  his  boyhood,  when  he  was  all  that  a  noble,  pure, 
generous  nature  could  make  him.  I  would  ten  thousand  times 
rather  know  that  he  was  sleeping  by  my  little  sister's  side  in  the 
graveyard,  than  see  him  disgrace  himself  1"  Iler  voice  faltered, 
and  she  drooped  her  head  to  conceal  the  anguish  which  con- 
vulsed her  features. 

•'  Beulah,  if  he  loves  you  still,  you  will  not  reject  him  ?"  cried 
Cornelia,  eagerly. 

"  He  does  not  love  me." 

"  Why  will  you  evade  me  ?     Suppose  that  he  does  ?" 

"  Then  I  tell  you  solemnly,  not  all  Christendom  could  induci 
me  to  marry  him  !" 

•'But  to  save  him,  Beulah!  to  save  him!"  replied  Cor 
nelia,  clasping  her  hands  entreatingly. 

"  If  a  man's  innate  self-respect  will  not  save  him  from  habitual 
,  disgusting  intoxication,  all  the  female  influence  in  the  universe 
would  not  avail.  Man's  will,  like  woman's,  is  stronger  than  hi 
affection,  and  once  subjugated  by  vice,  all  external  influence- 
will  be  futile.  If  Eugene  once  sinks  so  low,  neither  you,  nor  I 
nor  his  wife — had  he  one — could  reclaim  him." 

"  He  has  deceived  me  !  Fool  that  I  was,  not  to  probe  tm 
mask  !"  Cornelia  started  up,  and  paced  the  floor  witli  uucou 
trollablc  agitation 

"  Take  ;are  how  you  accuse  him  rashly  !  I  am  not  prepared 
tc  believe  that  he  could  act  dishonorably  toward  any  one---I  will 
Dot  believe  it." 

''Oh  !  you,  too,  will  get  your  eyes  open  in  due  time      Ha  !  i; 


B  £  U  L  A  H  .  27J 

b  all  as  clear  as  daylight !  And  I,  with  my  boasted  pene 
traticn  ! — it  maddens  me  1"  Her  eyes  glittered  like  polished 
steel. 

"  Explain  yourself ;  Eugene  is  above  suspicion  I"  cried  Beulah, 
with  pale,  fluttering  lips. 

"  Explain  myself  1  Then  understand  that  my  honorable  bro 
llier  professed  to  love  you,  and  pretended  that  he  expected  to 
maivy  you,  simply  and  solely  to  blind  me,  in  order  to  conceal  the 
truth.  I  taxed  him  with  a  preference  for  Antoinette  Dnpres, 
which  I  fancied  bis  manner  evinced.  He  denied  it,  most  earn- 
estly, protesting  that  he  felt  bound  to  you.  Now  do  you  under- 
stand ?"  Her  lips  were  white,  and  writhed  with  scorn. 

"  Still  you  may  misjudge  him,"  returned  Beulah,  haughtily. 

"  No,  no  !  My  mother  has  seen  it  all  along.  But,  fool  that  1 
was,  I  believed  his  words  !  Now,  Beulah,  if  he  marries  Antoi- 
nette, you  will  be  amply  revenged,  or  my  name  is  not  Cornelia 
Graham  ?"  She  laughed  bitterly,  and  dropping  some  medicine 
from  a  vial,  swallowed  the  potion,  and  resumed  her  walk  up  and 
down  the  floor. 

"  Revenged  1  What  is  it  to  me,  that  he  should  marry  yoni 
cousin  ?  If  he  loves  her,  it  is  no  business  of  mine,  and  certainly 
yon  have  no  right  to  object.  You  are  miserably  deceived  if  yob 
imagine  that  his  marriage  would  cause  me  an  instant's  regret. 
Think  you  I  could  love  a  man  whom  I  knew  to  be  my  inferior  ? 
Indeed,  you  know  little  of  my  nature."  She  spoke  with  curling 
lips  and  a  proud  smile. 

"  You  place  an  exalted  estimate  upon  yourself,"  returned  Cor- 
uelia. 

They  looked  at  each  other  half-defiantly,  for  a  moment ;  ther 
he  heiress  bowed  her  head,  and  said,  in  low  broken  tones  : 

"  Oh,  Beulah,  Beulah  1  child  of  poverty  !  would  I  coulc 
ehacge  places  with  you  1" 

"  You  are  weak,  Cornelia,"  answered  Beulah,  gravely. 

"  In  some  respects,  perhaps,  I  am  ;  but  you  are  bold  to  tel 

flW  80." 

19* 


274  BEULAH. 

'^Genuine  friendship  ignores  all  hesitancy  in  speaking  lb« 
truth.  You  sought  me  :  I  am  very  candid — perhaps  blunt.  If 
my  honesty  does  not  suit  you,  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  discontinue 
pur  intercourse.  The  whole  matter  rests  with  you." 

"  You  wish  me  to  understand  that  you  do  net  need  my  soci- 
.tr—  my  patronage  ?" 

"  Patronage  implies  dependence,  which,  in  this  instance,  does 
not  exist.  An  earnest,  self-reliant  woman,  cannot  be  pationized, 
in  the  sense  in  which  you  employ  the  term."  She  could  not 
forbear  smiling.  The  thought  of  being  under  patronage  was,  to 
her,  supremely  ridiculous. 

"  You  do  not  want  my  friendship,  then  ?" 

"  I  doubt  whether  you  have  any  to  bestow.  You  seem  to 
Aave  no  love  for  anything,"  replied  Beulah,  coldly. 

"Ohl  you  wrong  me,"  cried  Cornelia,  passionately. 

"If  I  do,  it  is  your  own  fault.  I  only  judge  you  from  what 
pou  have  shown  of  your  nature." 

"  Remember,  I  have  been  an  invalid  all  my  life." 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it  in  your  presence;  but,  Cornelia, 
four  whole  being  seems  embittered." 

"  Yes,  and  you  will  be  just  like  me  when  you  have  lived  aa 
fong  as  I  have.  Wait  till  you  have  seen  something  of  the 
world." 

"Sit  down,  Cornelia;  you  tremble  from  head  to  foot."  She 
drew  a  chair  close  to  the  hearth,  and  the  sufferer  sank  into  it, 
as  if  completely  exhausted.  For  some  time  neither  spoke. 
Beulah  stood  with  her  hands  on  the  back  of  the  chair,  wishing 
herself  back  in  her  quiet  little  room.  After  a  while,  Cornelia 
gaid  slowly: 

"  If  you  only  knew  Antoinette  as  well  as  I  do,  you  could  ill 
brook  the  thought  of  her  ever  being  Eugene's  wife  " 

"  He  is  the  best  judge  of  what  will  promote  his  happiness." 

"No;  he  is  blinded,  infatuated.  Her  pretty  face  veils  bei 
miserable,  contemptible  defects  ot  character.  She  is  ottnlj 
unworthy  of  him." 


BETJLA.H.  276 

"If  she  loves  him  sincerely,  she  will" 

"Don't  talk  of  what  you  do  not  understand.  She  is  tofl 
gellish  to  love  anything  or  anybody  but  herseif.  Mark  me, 
whether  I  live  to  see  it  or  not,  if  he  marries  her,  he  will  despise 
ner  in  less  than  six  mouths,  and  curse  himself  for  his  blind  folly 
Oh,  what  a  precious  farce  it  will  prove!"  She  laughed  sneer 
togly. 

"  Cornelia,  you  are  not  able  to  bear  this  excitement.  For  the 
present,  let  Eugene  and  his  future  rest,  and  try  to  compose 
yourself.  You  are  so  nervous,  you  can  scarcely  sit  still." 

The  colorless  face,  with  its  gleaming  eyes,  was  suddenly  lifted; 
and  throwing  her  arms  round  Beulah's  neck,  Cornelia  rested  hei 
proud  head  on  the  orphan's  shoulder. 

"  lie  my  friend  while  I  live.  Oh,  give  me  some  of  your  calm 
eonteutment,  some  of  your  strength  !" 

"  I  am  your  friend,  Cornelia;  I  will  always  be  such;  but  every 
Bonl  must  be  sufficient  for  itself.  Do  not  look  to  me;  lean  upon 
your  own  nature;  it  will  suffice  for  all  its  needs." 

With  the  young  teacher,  pity  was  almost  synonymous  with 
contempt;  and  as  she  looked  at  the  joyless  face  of  her  com« 
panion,  she  could  not  avoid  thinking  her  miserably  weak. 


CHAPTER    XXil. 

CHRISTMAS-DAY  was  sunny  and  beautiful.     The  bending  sky 
was  as  deeply  blue  as  that  which  hung  over  Bethlehem  eighteen 
hundred  years  before;  God's  coloring  had  not  faded.     Happy 
children  prattled  as  joyously  as  did  the  little  Jew  boys  who 
clustered  curiously  about  the  manger,  to  gaze  upon  the  holy 
babe,  the  sleeping  Jesus.     Human  nature  had  not  altered  oni  \ 
tfhit  beneath  the  iron  wheel  of  Time.     Is  there  a  man  so  sunk  v 
ID  infamy,  or  steeped  ?n  misanthropy,  that  he  has  not,  at  som« 


2T6  BEULAH. 

ocnocl  of  his  life,  exclaimed,  in  view  of  earth's  fadeless  beauty 

"This  world  is  very  lovely.     0  my  Godt 
I  thank  Thee  that  I  live." 

Alas,  for  the  besotted  soul,  who  cannot  bend  the  knee  af 
humble  adoration  before  nature's  altar,  where  sacriGces  ar« 
offered  to  the  Jehovah,  pavilioned  in  invisibility.  There  is  au 
ardent  love  of  nature,  a?  far  removed  from  gross  materialism  or 
Eubtlc  pantheism  on  the  one  hand,  as  from  stupid  inappreciation 
on  the  other.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  looking  "  through  nature 
up  to  nature's  God,"  notwithstanding  the  frightened  denials  oi 
those  who,  shocked  at  the  growing  materialism  of  the  age,  would 
fain  persuade  this  generation  to  walk  blindfold  through  the 

I  superb  temple  a  loving  God  has  placed  us  in.  While  every 
sane  and  earnest  mind  must  turn,  disgusted  and  humiliated, 
from  the  senseless  rant,  which  resolves  all  divinity  into  material- 
istic  elements,  it  may  safely  be  proclaimed  that  genuine  aesthetics 
is  a  mighty  channel,  through  which  the  love  and  adoration  of 
Almighty  God  enters  the  human  soul.  It  were  an  insult  to  th« 
Creator  to  reject  the  influence  which  even  the  physical  world 

•  everts  on  contemplative  natures.  From  bald,  hoary  mountains, 
and  sombre,  solemn  forests  ;  from  thundering  waves,  and  way- 
side viok'ts  ;  from  gorgeous  sunset  clouds,  from  quiet  stars,  and 
whispering  winds,  come  unmistakable  voices,  hymning  of  the 
Eternal  God  :  the  God  of  Moses,  of  Isaac,  and  of  Jacob 
Extremes  meet  in  every  age,  and  in  every  department.  Because 
one  false  philosophy  would  deify  the  universe,  startled  oppo- 
nents tell  us  to  close  our  ears  to  these  musical  utterances,  and 
shut  our  eyes  to  glorious  nature,  God's  handiwork.  Oh  !  why 
has  humanity  so  fierce  a  hatred  of  medium  paths  ? 

"Ragged  boys  and  bare-footed  girls  tripped  gaily  along  :ho 
streets,  merry  and  uncomplaining  ;  and  surrounded  by  velvet, 
silver  and  warble,  by  every  superfluity  of  luxury,  Cornelia 
Oranara.  with  a  bitter  heart  and  hopeless  soul,  shivered  iu  he* 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  271 

easy-cl/air  before  a  glowing  fire.  The  Christmas  sanl'^ht  irept 
iu  through  the  heavy  crimson  curtains,  and  made  gorgeous  fret 
work  on  the  walls,  but  its  cheering  radiance  mocked  the  sicklj 
pallor  of  the  invalid,  and  as  Beulah  retreated  to  the  window  and 
peeped  into  the  street,  she  felt  an  intense  longing  to  get  out 
ander  the  blue  sky  once  more.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gralium,  and 
Antoicstte,  sat  round  the  hearth,  discussing  the  tableaux  for 
the  evening,  while,  with  her  cheek  upon  her  hand,  Cornelia 
listlessly  fingered  a  diamond  necklace  which  her  father  had  just 
given  her.  The  blazing  jewels  slipped  through  her  pale  finger* 
all  unnoticed,  and  she  looked  up  abstractedly  when  Mr.  Graham 
touched  her,  and  repeated  his  question  for  the  third  time : 

"  My  child,  won't  you  come  down  to  the  sitting-room  ?" 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  ani  better  here." 

"  But  you  will  be  so  lonely." 

"  Not  with  Beulah." 

"  But,  of  course,  Miss  Benton  will  desire  to  see  the  tableaux. 
You  would  not  keep  her  from  them  ?"  remonstrated  her  father. 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Graham,  I  prefer  remaining  with  Cornelia," 
answered  Beulah,  who  had  no  wish  to  mingle  in  the  crowd 
which,  she  understood  from  the  conversation,  would  assemble 
that  evening  in  the  parlors.  The  trio  round  the  hearth  looked 
at  each  other,  and  evidently  thought  she  manifested  very 
heathenish  taste.  Cornelia  smiled,  and  leaned  back  with  an 
sxpression  of  pleasure,  which  very  rarely  lighted  her  face. 

"  You  are  shockingly  selfish  and  exacting,"  said  Antoinette, 
curling  her  long  ringlets  over  her  pretty  fingers,  and  looking 
rery  bewitching.     Her  cousin  eyed  her  in  silence,  and  not  parti-  \ 
culaily  relishing  her  daughter's  keen  look,  Mrs.  Graham  rose,  ) 
tissed  her  forehead,  and  said,  gently  : 

"My  love,  the  Vincents,  and  Thorntons,  and  Hendersons  all 
sent  to  inquire  after  you  this  morning.  Netta  and  I  must,  gfl 
down  new,  and  prepare  for  our  tableaux.  I  leave  you  in  good 
hands  ;  Miss  B'mton  is  considered  an  admirable  nurse,  7 
believe." 


£78  BEULAH. 

"  Mother,  where  is  Eugene  ?" 

"  I  really  do  not  know.     Do  you,  Mr.  Graham  ?" 

''  He  ha£  gone  to  the  hotel  to  see  some  of  his  old  Heidelberg 
fmuds,"  answered  Nctta,  examining  Beulah's  plain  meriuo  dres& 
rcry  m.nutely  as  she  spoke. 

"  When  he  comes  home,  be  good  enough  to  tell  him  that  I 
Tish  to  see  him  " 

"  Very  well,  my  dear."  Mrs.  Graham  left  the  room,  followed 
oy  her  husband  and  niece.  For  some  time,  Cornelia  sat  just  as 
they  left  her  ;  the  diamond  necklace  slipped  down,  and  lay  a 
glittering  heap  on  the  carpet,  and  the  delicate  waxen  hands 
drooped  listlessly  over  the  orms  of  the  chair.  Her  profile  was 
toward  Bculah,  who  stood  looking  at  the  regular,  beautiful 
features,  and  wondering  how  (with  so  many  elements  of  happi- 
ness in  her  home)  she  could  seem  so  discontented.  She  was 
thinking,  too,  that  there  was  a  certain  amount  of  truth  in  that 
persecuted  and  ignored  dictum,  "  A  man  only  sees  that  which 
he  brings  with  him  the  power  of  seeing,"  when  Cornelia  raised 
herself,  and  turning  her  head  to  look  for  her  companion,  saU, 
slowly  : 

"  Where  are  you  ?  Do  you  believe  in  the  Emersonian  '  law 
of  compensation/  rigid  and  inevitable  as  fate  ?  I  say,  Beulah, 
do  you  believe  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it." 

"  Hand  me  the  volume  there  on  the  table.  His  exposition  of 
'the  absolute  balance  of  Give  and  Take,  the  doctrine  that 
everything  has  its  price,'  is  the  grandest  triumph  of  his  geniua. 
For  an  hour  this  sentence  has  been  ringing  in  my  cars  :  '  in  tie 
nature  of  the  soul  is  the  compensation  for  the  inequalities  of 
condition.'  We  are  samples  of  the  truth  of  this.  Ah,  Beuluh, 
I  have  paid  a  heavy,  heavy  price  1  You  are  destitute  of  one,  it 
~8  true,  but  exempt  from  the  other.  Yet,  mark  you,  this  law  of 
'  Compensation '  pertains  solely  to  earth  and  its  denizens  ;  the 
\rery  existence  and  operation  of  the  law  precludes  the  necessity, 
aud  I  may  say  the  possibility  of  that  future  state,  designed,  at 


B  £  U  L  A  H  .  279 

theologians  argne,  for  rewards  and  punishments."     She  watchefl 

her  visitor  very  closely  : 

"  Of  course  it  nullifies  the  belief  in  future  adjustments,  for  he 

says  emphatically,  '  Justice  is  not  postponed.     A  perfect  equity 

adjusts  its  balance  in  all  parts  of  life.'     '  What  will  you  have! 

Pay   for   it,    and   take   it.      Nothing   venture,    nothing   have. 

There  is  no  obscurity  whatever  in  that   remarkable  essay  oc 

compensation."    Beulah  took  up  one  of  the  volumes,  and  turned 

the  pages  carelessly. 

"  But  all  this  would  shock  a  Christian." 
"  And  deservedly  ;  for  Emerson's  works,  collectively  ana  indi 
ridually,  are  aimed  at  the  doctrines  of  Christianity.     There  is  a 
ijrim,  terrible  fatalism  scowling  on  his  pages,  which  might  well 
frighten  the  reader  who  clasped  the  Bible  to  his  heart." 

"Yet  you  accept  his  'compensation.'  Are  you  prepared  to 
receive  his  deistic  system  ?"  Cornelia  leaned  forward,  and 
spoke  eagerly.  Beulah  smiled. 

"  Why  strive  to  cloak  the  truth  ?  I  should  not  term  his  frag- 
mentary system  '  deistic.'  He  knows  not  yet  what  he  believes 
There  are  singular  antagonisms  existing  among  even  his  pe^ 
theories." 

"  I  have  not  found  any,"  replied  Cornelia,  with  a  gesture  of 
impatience. 

"  Then  you  have  not  studied  his  works  as  closely  as  I  hare 
done.  In  one  place,  he  tells  you  he  feels  '  the  eternity  of  man, 
th«  identity  of  his  thought,'  that  Plato's  truth,  and  Pindar's 
fire,  belong  as  much  to  him,  as  to  the  ancient  Greeks,  and  on 
the  opposite  page,  if  I  remember  aright,  he  says,  '  Rare  extrava- 
gant spirits  come  by  us  at  intervals,  who  disclose  to  us  new  facts 
in  nature.  I  see  that  men  of  God  have,  from  time  to  time, 
walked  among  men,  and  made  their  commission  felt  in  the  heart 
and  soul  of  the  commonest  hearer.  Hence  evidently  the  tripod, 
the  priest,  the  priestess,  inspired  by  the  divine  afflatus.'  Thai 
at  one  moment  he  finds  no  '  antiquity  hi  the  worships  of  Moses,  ol 
Zoroaster,  of  Menu,  or  Socrates,  they  are  as  much  his  ai 


280  BEULAH. 

theirs,'  and  at  another,  clearly  asserts  that  spirits  Jo  come  int.* 
the  world  to  discover  to  us  new  truths.  At  some  points  we  art 
told  that  the  cycles  of  time  reproduce  all  things  ;  at  others,  thi? 
theory  is  denied.  Again  in  '  Self-Reliance,'  he  says,  '  Trust  thy 
self  ;  insist  on  yourself ;  obey  thy  heart,  and  thou  shalt  repro 
duce  the  fore-world  again.'  All  this  was  very  comforting  t« 
me,  Cornelia  ;  self-reliance  was  the  great  secret  of  success  and 
happiness  ;  but  I  chanced  to  read  the  '  Over-Soul '  soon  after, 
and  lo  !  these  words  :  '  I  ain  constrained  every  moment  te 
acknowledge  a  higher  origin  for  events  than  the  will  1  call 
mine.'  This  was  directly  antagonistic  to  the  entire  spirit  of 
4  self-reliance  ;'  but  I  read  on,  and  soon  found  the  last  sentence 
utterly  nullified  by  one  which  declared  positively  '  that  the 
Highest  dwells  with  man  ;  the  sources  of  nature  are  in  his  own 
mind.'  Sometimes  we  are  informed  that  our  souls  are  self-exist- 
ing, and  all  powerful  ;  an  incarnation  of  the  divine  and  univer- 
sal, and  before  we  fairly  digest  this  tremendous  statement,  he 
coolly  asserts  that  there  is  above  ali,  an  '  over-soul,'  whoso 
inevitable  decrees  upset  our  plans,  and  '  overpower  private  will/ 
Cognizant  of  these  palpable  contradictions,  Emerson  boldly 
arows  and  defends  them,  by  declaring  that  '  A  foolish  consistency 
is  the  hobgoblin  of  little  minds.  With  consistency,  a  great  soul 
has  simply  nothing  to  do.  Speak  what  you  think  now  in  hard 
words  ;  and  to-morrow  speak  what  to-morrow  thinks  in  hard 
words  again,  though  it  contradict  everything  you  said  to-day. 
Why  should  you  keep  your  head  over  your  shoulder  ?  Why 
drag  about  this  corpse  of  your  memory,  lest  you  contradict 
somewhat  you  have  stated  in  this  or  that  public  place  ?  Sup- 
pose you  should  contradict  yourself?'  His  writings  are,  tc  me, 
like  heaps  of  broken  glass,  beautiful  in  the  individual  crjstal, 
Bparkling,  and  often  dazzling,  but  gather  them  up,  and  try  to  fit 
them  into  a  whole,  and  the  jagged  edges  refuse  to  unite.  Cer 
tainly,  Cormlia,  you  are  not  an  Emersonian."  Her  deep,  quiet 
eyes  locked  full  into  those  of  the  invalid. 

"Yen  T  am.     I   believe  in  that  fatalism  which  he  shroadf 


BETJLAH.  281 

inder  the  gauze  of  an  '  Over-Soul,'  replied  Curnelia,  impres 
sively. 

"  Then  you  are  a  fair  sample  of  the  fallacy  of  his  system,  if 
the  disjointed  bits  of  logic  deserve  the  name." 

"  How  so  ?" 

"  He  continually  exhorts  to  a  happy,  contented,  and  uucom 
iaiuing  frame  of  mind  ;  tells  you  sternly,  that  '  Discontent  if 
.2Q  want  of  self-reliance  ;  it  is  infirmity  of  will.' " 

1 ;  Yoa  are  disposed  to  be  severe,"  muttered  Cornelia,  with  ai 
angry  flash. 

"  What  ?  because  I  expect  his  professed  disciple  to  obey  hia 
injunctions  ?" 

"  Do  you  then  conform  so  irreproachably  to  your  own  creed  ? 
Pray  what  is  it  ?" 

"  I  have  no  creed.  I  am  honestly  and  anxiously  hunting  one. 
For  a  long  time  I  thought  that  I  had  found  a  sound  one  in 
Emerson.  But  a  careful  study  of  his  writings  taught  me  that 
of  all  Pyrrhonists  he  is  the  prince.  Can  a  creedless  soul  aid  mo 
in  my  search  ?  verily  no.  He  exclaims,  '  To  fill  the  hour — that 
is  happiness  ;  to  fill  the  hour,  and  leave  no  crevice  for  repent 
ance  or  an  approval.  We  live  amid  surfaces,  and  the  true  art 
of  life,  is  to  skate  well  on  them.'  Now  this  sort  of  oyster  exist 
ence  does  not  suit  me,  Cornelia  Graham,  nor  will  it  suit  you." 

"You  do  him  injustice.  He  has  a  creed  (true  it  is  pan- 
theistic), which  he  steadfastly  adheres  to  under  all  circum- 
stances." 

"  Oh  !  has  he,  indeed  ?  Then  he  flatly  contradicts  you  when 
he  says,  '  But  lest  I  should  mislead  any,  when  I  have  my  own 
head,  and  obey  my  whims,  let  me  remind  the  reader  that  I  am 
or.ly  an  experimenter.  Do  not  set  the  least  value  on  what  I  do, 
or  the  least  discredit  on  what  I  do  not,  as  if  I  pretended  to  settle 
anything  as  true  or  false.  I  unsettle  all  things.  No  facts  arc 
to  me  sacred  ;  none  are  profane.  I  simply  experiment,  an  end- 
less seeker,  with  no  past  at  my  back.'  To  my  fancy  that  savort 
strongly  of  nihilism,  as  regards  creeds  " 


282  BEULAH. 

'  There  is  no  such  passage  in  Emerson,"  cried  Cornelia,  stump 
ing  one  foot,  unconsciously,  on  her  blazing  necklace. 

"  Yes,  the  passage  is,  word  for  word,  as  I  quoted  it,  and  yon 
will  find  it  in  '  Circles.' " 

"  I  have  reud  '  Circles '  several  times,  and  do  not  remember  it. 
4 1  all  3vents,  it  does  not  sound  like  Emerson." 

"  For  that  matter,  his  own  individual  circle  of  ideas  is  s« 
amch  like  St.  Augustine's  '  Circle,  of  which  the  centre  is  every- 
where and  the  circumference  nowhere,'  that  I  am  not  prepared 
to  say  what  may  or  may  not  be  found  within  it.  You  will  ulti- 
mately think  with  me,  that,  though  an  earnest  and  profound 
thinker,  your  master  is  no  Memuon,  waking  only  before  the  suu 
light  of  truth.  His  utterances  are  dim  and  contradictory."  She 
replaced  the  book  on  the  table,  and  taking  up  a  small  basket, 
resulted  her  sewing. 

"  But,  Beulah,  did  you  not  accept  his '  Law  of  Compensation  T  " 

"  I  believe  its  operations  are  correct  as  regards  mere  social 
position  :  wealth,  penury,  even  the  endowments  of  genius.  But 
further  than  this,  I  do  not  accept  it.  I  want  to  believe  that  my 
soul  is  immortal.  Emerson's  '  Duration  of  the  attributes  of  the 
Soul '  does  not  satisfy  me.  I  desire  something  more  than  an 
immutability,  or  continued  existence  hereafter,  in  the  form  of  an 
abstract  idea  of  truth,  justice,  love  or  humility." 

Cornelia  looked  at  her  steadily,  and  after  a  pause,  said,  with 
indescribable  bitterness  and  despair  : 

"  If  our  past  and  present  shadows  the  future,  I  hope  that  my 
last  sleep  may  be  unbroken  and  eternal." 

Beulah  raised  her  head,  and  gla-nced  searchiugly  at  her  com' 
panion  ;  then  silently  went  on  with  her  work. 

"  I  understand  your  honest  face.  You  think  I  have  no  cause 
to  talk  sc  You  see  me  surrounded  by  wealth ;  petted,  indulged 
hi  every  whim,  and  you  fancy  that  I  am  a  very  enviable  woman* 
but " 

"  There  you  entirely  mistake  me,"  interrupted  Beulah,  with  t 
cold  smile 


BEULAH.  283 

"  Y"oo  think  that  I  ought  to  be  very  happy  aud  contented,  and 
^-efui  in  the  sphere  in  which  I  move;  and  regard  me,  I  know,  aa 
a  weak  hypochondriac.  Beulah,  physicians  told  me,  long  ago, 
tl  at  I  lived  upon  the  very  brink  of  the  grave,  that  I  might  dio 
at  any  moment,  without  warning.  My  grandmother  and  one  of 
my  uncles  died  suddenly  with  this  disease  of  the  heart,  and  tht 
shadow  of  death  seems  continually  around  me  ;  it  will  not  bf 
dispelled — it  haunts  me  forever.  '  Boast  not  thyself  of  to-uioi> 
row,'  said  the  preacher  ;  but  I  cannot  even  boast  of  to-day, 
or  ibis  hour.  The  world  knows  nothing  of  this  ;  it  has  been 
carefully  concealed  by  my  parents  ;  but  I  know  it !  and,  Beulah, 
I  feel  as  did  that  miserable,  doomed  prisoner  of  Poe's  '  Pit  and 
Pendnlurn/  who  saw  the  pendulum,  slowly  but  surely,  sweeping 
iown  upon  him.  My  life  has  been  a  great  unfulfilled  promise. 
With  what  are  generally  considered  elements  of  happiness  in  my 
•oome,  I  have  always  been  solitary  aud  unsatisfied.  Conscious  of 
my  feeble  tenure  on  life,  I  early  set  out  to  anchor  myself  in  a 
;alm  faith,  which  would  secure  me  a  happy  lot  in  eternity.  My 
nature  was  strongly  religious,  and  I  longed  to  find  hope  and 
consolation  in  some  of  our  churches.  My  parents  always  had  a 
pew  in  the  fashionable  church  in  this  city.  You  need  not  smile — 
I  speak  advisedly  when  I  say  '  fashionable '  church;  for  assuredly,  ' 
fashion  has  crept  into  religion  also,  now-a-days.  From  my  child-  I 
hood,  I  was  regularly  dressed,  and  taken  to  church  ;  but  I  soon 
began  to  question  the  sincerity  of  the  pastor,  and  the  consistency 
of  the  members.  Sunday  after  Sunday,  I  saw  them  in  their 
pews,  and  week  after  week,  listened  to  their  gossiping,  slan- 
derous chit-chat.  Prominent  members  busied  themselves  about 
charitable  associations,  and  headed  subscription  lists,  and  all  the 
while  set  examples  of  frivolity,  heartlessness,  and  what  is  scftly 
termed  '  fashionable  excesses,'  which  shocked  my  ideas  of  Christ- 
.an  propriety,  and  disgusted  me  with  the  mockery  their  live! 
presented.  I  watched  the  minister  in  his  social  relations,  and 
instead  of  reverencing  him  as  a  meek  and  holy  man  of  God,  * 
ec  lid  not  forbear  looking  with  utter  contempt  upon  his  pompom^ 


291  BEULAH. 

self-sufficient  demeanor  toward  the  mass  of  his  fleck  ;  while  It 
the  most  opulent  aud  influential  members  lie  bowed  down,  with  3 
servile,  fawning  sycophancy,  absolutely  disgusting.  I  attended 
various  churches,  listening  to  sermons,  and  watching  the  conduct 
of  the  prominent  professing  Christians  of  each.  Many  ^ave 
most  liberally  to  so-called  religious  causes  and  institutions,  and 
made  amends  by  heavily  draining  the  purses  of  widows  and 
orphans.  Some  affected  an  ascetical  simplicity  of  dress,  aud  yet 
hugged  their  purses  where  their  Bibles  should  have  been.  It 
was  all  Mammon  worship  ;  some  grossly  palpable,  some  adroiily 
cloaked  under  solemn  faces  aud  severe  observance  of  the  out- 
ward ceremonials.  The  clergy,  as  a  class,  I  found  strangely 
unlike  what  I  had  expected  :  instead  of  earnest  zeal  for  the 
promotion  of  Christianity,  I  saw  that  the  majority  were  bent 
only  on  the  aggrandizement  of  their  particular  denomination. 
Verily,  I  thought  in  my  heart,  'Is  all  this  bickering  the  result 
of  their  religion  ?  How  these  churches  do  hate  each  other  1J 
According  to  each,  salvation  could  only  be  found  in  their  special 
tenets — within  the  pale  of  their  peculiar  organization  ;  and  yet, 
all  professed  to  draw  their  doctrines  from  the  same  book  :  and, 
Beulah,  the  end  of  my  search  was,  that  I  scorned  all  creeds  and 
churches,  aud  began  to  find  a  faith  outside  of  a  revelation 
which  gave  rise  to  so  much  narrow-minded  bigotry— so  much 
pharisaism  and  delusion.  Those  who  call  themselves  ministers 
of  the  Christian  religion  should  look  well  to  their  commissions, 
aud  beware  how  they  go  out  into  the  world,  unless  the  seal  of 
Jesus  be  indeed  upon  their  brows.  They  offer  themselves  as  the 
Pharos  of  the  people,  but,  ah  !  they  sometimes  wreck  immorta? 
souls  by  their  unpardonable  inconsistencies.  For  the  last  two 
years,  I  have  been  groping  my  way  after  some  system  upos 
which  1  could  rest  the  little  time  I  have  to  live.  Obs  I  am 
heart-sick  and  despairing  I" 

"  What  ?  already  !  Take  courage,  Cornelia  ;  there  is  tratli 
somewhere,"  answered  Beulah,  with  kindling  eyes 

"  Whe*r ,  where  ?    Ah  1  that  echo  mocks  you,  turn  which  way 


SEULAII.  285 

JTOU  will.  1  sit  like  Raphael-Abeu-Ezra — at  the  '  Bottom  of 
the  Abyss,"  but  unlike  him,  I  am  no  Democritus  to  jest  over  my 
position.  I  am  too  miserable  to  laugh,  and  my  grim  Emersoniais 
fatalism  gives  roe  precious  little  comfort,  though  it  is  about  tho 
only  thing  that  I  do  firmly  believe  in."' 

She  stooped  to  pick  up  her  necklace,  shook  it  in  the  glow  of 
ibe  fire  until  a  shower  of  rainbow  hues  flashed  out,  and  holding 
it  up,  asked  contemptuously : 

"  What  do  you  suppose  this  piece  of  extravagance  cost  ?" 

"  I  have  no  idea." 

"  Why,  fifteen  hundred  dollars — that  is  all  !  Oh,  what  is 
the  blaze  of  diamonds  to  a  soul  like  mine,  shrouded  in  despair- 
ing darkness,  and  hovering  upon  the  very  confines  of  eternity,  if 
there  be  any  1"  She  threw  the  costly  gift  on  the  table,  and 
wearily  closed  her  eyes. 

"  You  have  become  discouraged  too  soon,  Cornelia.  Your 
Tery  anxiety  to  discover  truth  evinces  its  existence,  for  Nature 
•tlways  supplies  the  wants  she  creates  1" 

"  You  will  tell  me  that  this  truth  is  to  be  found  down  in  the 
depths  of  my  own  soul ;  for  no  more  than  logic,  has  it  ever  been 
discovered  'parcelled  and  labelled.'  But  how  do  I  know  that  all 
truth  is  not  merely  subjective  ?  Ages  ago,  skepticism  intrenched 
itself  in  an  impregnable  fortress :  '  There  is  no  criterion  of 
truth.'  How  do  I  know  that  my  'true,'  '  good,'  and  '  beautiful ' 
are  absolutely  so  ?  My  reason  is  no  infallible  plummet  to  sound 
the  sea  of  phenomena  and  touch  noumcna.  I  tell  you,  Beulah. 
it  is  all  " 

A  hasty  rap  at  the  door  cut  short  this  discussion,  and  as  Iw 
gene  entered,  the  cloud  on  Cornelia's  brow  instantly  lifted.  His 
gay  Christmas  greeting,  and  sunny,  handsome  face,  diverted  her 
mird,  and  as  her  hand  rested  on  his  arm,  her  countenance  evinced! 
a  degree  of  intense  love,  such  as  Beulah  had  supposed  her  iuca- l 
pable  of  feeling. 

"  It  is  very  selfish,  sister  mine,  to  keep  Beulah  so  constantly 
you,  when  we  all  want  to  see  something  of  her." 


286  BECLAH. 

"  Was  I  ever  anything  else  but  selfish  ?" 

"But  I  thought  you  prided  yourself  on  requiiing  no  jociety  f* 

"  So  I  do,  as  regards  society  in  general  5  but  Beulah  is  an  ex- 
ception." 

"  You  intend  to  come  down  to-night,  do  you  not  ?" 

"  Not  if  I  can  avoid  it.  Eugene,  take  Beulah  into  the  parlor, 
and  ask  Antoinette  to  sing.  Afterward  make  Beulah  sing,  alsOj 
and  be  sure  to  leave  all  the  doors  open,  so  that  I  can  hear. 
Mind,  you  must  not  detain  her  long." 

Beulah  would  have  demurred,  but  at  this  moment  she  saw  Dr. 
Hartwell's  buggy  approaching  the  house.  Her  heart  seemed  to 
spring  to  her  lips,  and  feeling  that  after  their  last  unsatisfactory 
interview,  she  was  in  no  mood  to  meet  him,  she  quickly  descended 
the  steps,  so  blinded  by  haste  that  she  failed  to  perceive  tho 
hand  Eugene  extended  to  assist  her.  The  door-bell  uttered  a 
Aarp  peal  as  they  reached  the  hail,  and  she  had  just  time  fo 
escape  into  the  parlor,  when  the  doctor  was  ushered  in. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  asked  Eugene,  observing  the  nervous 
flutter  of  her  lips. 

"  Ask  Miss  Dupres  to  sing,  will  you  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  curiously  an  instant,  then  turned  away  and 
persuaded  the  little  beauty  to  sing. 

She  took  her  seat,  and  ran  her  jewelled  fingers  over  the  pearl 
keys  with  an  air  which  very  clearly  denoted  her  opinion  of  her 
musical  proficiency. 

"  Well,  sir,  what  will  you  have  ?" 

"  That  favorite  morceau  from  '  Linda.1 " 

11  You  have  never  heard  it,  I  suppose,"  said  she,  glanchg  ovef 
her  shoulder  at  the  young  teacher. 

"  Yes,  1  have  heard  it,"  answered  Beulah,  who  could  with  dif 
ficulty  repress  a  smile. 

Antoinette  half  shrugged  her  shoulders,  as  if  she  thought  the 
statement  questionable,  and  began  the  song.  Beulah  listened 
attentively  ;  she  was  conscious  of  feeling  more  than  ordinary 
Interest  in  this  performance,  and  almost  held  her  breath  as  th« 


BEULAH.  287 

clear,  silvery  voice  carol  ed  through  the  most  intricate  passages 
Antoinette  had  been  thoroughly  trained,  and  certainly  her  voice 
was  remarkably  sweet  and  flexible  ;  but  as  she  concluded  the 
piece,  and  fixed  her  eyes  complacently  on  Beulah,  the  latter  lifted 
W  hsad,  in  proud  consciousness  of  superiority. 

"  Sing  me  something  else,"  said  she. 

Antoinette  bit  her  lips,  and  answered  ungraciously  : 

*'  No;  I  shall  have  to  sing  to-night,  and  can't  wear  myself  OLi.' 

"Now,  Beulah,  I  shall  hear  you.  I  have  sought  an  opportu- 
nity ever  since  I  returned."  Eugene  spoke  rather  carelessly 

"Do  you  really  wish  to  hear  me,  Eugene?" 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  said  he,  with  some  surprise. 

"And  so  do  I,"  added  Mrs.  Graham,  leaning  against  the  piano, 
and  exchanging  glances  with  Antoinette. 

Beultih  looked  up,  and  asked  quietly  : 

"  Eugene,  shall  I  sing  you  a  ballad  ?  One  of  those  simple 
old  tunes  we  used  to  love  so  well  in  days  gone  by." 

"No,  no.  Something  operatic,"  cried  Antoinette,  without 
giving  him  an  opportunity  to  reply. 

"  Well,  then,  Miss  Dupres,  select  something." 

"  Can't  you  favor  us  with  '  Casta-Diva  ?' "  returned  the  beauty,  \ 
with  something  very  like  a  sneer. 

Beulah's  eyes  gave  a  momentary  flash,  but  by  a  powerful  effort 
she  curbed  her  anger,  and  commenced  the  song. 

It  was  amusing  to  mark  the  expression  of  utter  astonishment 
which  gradually  overspread  Antoinette's  face,  as  the  magnificent 
roice  of  her  despised  rival  swelled  in  waves  of  entrancing  melody 
through  the  lofty  rooms.  Eugene  looked  quite  as  much  amazed. 
Beulah  felt  her  triumph,  and  heartily  enjoyed  it.  There  was  a 
sparkle  in  her  eye,  and  a  proud  smile  on  her  lip,  which  she 
did  cot  attempt  to  conceal.  As  she  rose  from  the  piano,  Eugene 
caught  her  hand,  and  said  eagerly  : 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  your  possessing  such  a  voice.  It  is 
inpeib — perfectly  magnificent  1  Why  did  not  you  tell  roe  of  U 
before  ?" 


288  BEULAH. 

"  You  heard  it  long  ago,  in  the  olden  time,"  said  she,  witbr 
drawing  her  hand  and  looking  steadily  at  him. 

"  Ah,  but  it  has  improved  incredibly.  You  were  all  untutored 
theu." 

"  It  is  the  culture,  then,  not  the  voice  itself?     Eh,  Eugene  ?" 

"  It  is  both.     Who  taught  you  ?" 

"  I  had  several  teachers,  but  owe  what  excellence  I  may  pos- 
*e«5  to  my  guardian.  He  aided  me  more  than  all  the  instruction- 
books  that  ever  were  compiled." 

"  You  must  come  and  practise  with  the  musical  people  who 
meet  here  very  frequently,"  said  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Thank  you,  madam  ;  I  have  other  engagements  which  wi)L 
prevent  my  doing  so." 

"  Nonsense,  Beulah,  we  have  claims  on  you.  I  certainly 
have,"  answered  Eugene. 

"  Have  you  ?     I  was  not  aware  of  the  fact." 

There  was  a  patronizing  manner  iu  all  this  which  she  felt  no 
disposition  to  submit  to. 

"  Most  assuredly  I  have,  Beulah,  and  mean  to  maintain  them." 

She  perfectly  understood  the  haughty  expression  of  his  coun- 
tenance, and,  moving  toward  the  door,  replied  coldly: 

"  Another  time,  Eugene,  we  will  discuss  them." 

'  Where  are  you  going  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Graham,  rather  stiffly. 
"To  Cornelia.  The  doctor  came  down  a  few  minutes  since," 

She  did  not  pause  to  hear  what  followed,  but  ran  up  the  steps, 
longing  to  get  out  of  a  house  where  she  plainly  perceived  her 
presence  was  by  no  means  desired.  Cornelia  sat  with  her  head 
drooped  on  her  thiu  hand,  and  without  looking  up,  said,  more 
gently  than  was  her  custom  : 

"  Why  did  you  hurry  back  so  soon  ?" 

"Because  the  parlor  was  not  particularly  attractive." 

There  came  the  first  good-humored  laugh  which  Beulah  had 
B7er  heard  from  Cornelia's  lips,  as  the  latter  replied  : 

*'  What  friends  you  and  old  growling  Diogenes  would  har« 
been.  Pray,  how  did  my  cousin  receive  your  performance  I" 


BEULAH.  299 

n  Very  much  as  if  she  wished  me  amid  the  ruins  of  Persepolis, 
where  I  certainly  shall  be  before  I  inflict  anything  more  upon 
her.  Cornelia,  do  not  ask  or  expect  me  to  come  here  again,  for 
I  will  not;  of  course,  it  is  quite  as  palpable  to  you  as  to  me  that  1 
am  no  favorite  with  your  parents,  and  something  still  less  with  your 
ccosia.  Consequently,  you  need  not  expect  to  see  me  here  again. 

"Do  not  say  so,  Beulah;  you  must,  you  shall  come,  and  I  wil. 
•ee  that  no  one  dares  interfere  with  my  wishes.  As  for  Antoi- 
nette, she  is  simply  a  vain  idiot;  you  might  just  as  well  be  told 
the  truth,  for  doubtless  you  will  see  it  for  yourself;  she  is  my 
mother's  niece,  an  only  child,  and  possessed  of  considerable 
wealth.  I  suppose  it  is  rather  natural  that  my  parents  should 
fondle  the  idea  of  her  being  Eugene's  wife.  They  do  not  see 
now  utterly  unsuited  they  are.  Eugene  will,  of  course,  inherit 
the  fortune  which  I  once  imagined  I  should  have  the  pleasure  of 
squandering.  My  father  and  mother  dread  lest  Eugene  should 
return  to  his  '  boyish  fancy'  (as  you  are  pleased  to  term  it),  and  • 
look  on  you  with  jealous  eyes.  Oh!  Mammon  is  the  God  of  this 
generation.  But,  Beulah,  you  must  not  allow  all  this  miserable 
manceuvering  to  keep  you  from  me.  If  you  do,  I  will  very  soon 
succeed  in  making  this  home  of  mine  very  unpleasant  for  Antoi- 
nette Dupres.  When  I  am  dead,  she  can  wheedle  my  family  as 
successfully  as  they  choose  to  permit;  but  while  I  do  live,  she 
shall  forbear.  Poor,  contemptible  human  nature!  verily,  I 
rejoice  sometimes  when  I  remember  that  I  shall  not  be  burdened 
with  any  of  it  long."  An  angry  spot  burned  on  each  pallid 
cheek,  and  the  beautiful  mouth  curled  scornfully. 

"Do  not  excite  yourself  so  unnecessarily,  Cornelia.  What 
foa  may  or  may  not  think  of  your  relatives  is  no  concern  of 
mine.  You  have  a  carriage  always  at  your  command,  and  when 
you  desire  to  see  a  real  friend,  you  can  visit  me.  Let  this  suffice 
for  this  subject.  Suppose  we  have  a  game  of  chess  or  back- 
gammon ?  What  do  you  say  ?" 

She  wheeled  a  light  table  toward  the  hearth,  but  the  invalid 
motioned  it  away,  and  answered  moodilv  : 


29t)  B  K  U  L  A  H  . 

"  I  am  in  no  humor  for  games.     Sit  down  aua  tell  intf 
your  leaving  Dr.  Hartwell's  protection." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  tell." 

"  He  is  a  singular  being  ?" 

Receiving  no  answer,  she  added  impatiently : 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ?" 

41 1  do,  in  the  sense  of  great  superiority." 

"  The  world  is  not  so  flattering  in  its  estimate." 

"  No,  for  slander  loves  a  lofty  mark." 

"  Beulah  Benton,  do  you  mean  that  fci  me  ?" 

"  Not  unless  you  feel  that  it  applies  to  you  particularly.* 

"If  he  is  so  faultless  and  unequalled,  pray,  why  did  not  JJ1 
remain  in  his  house  ?" 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  accounting  to  any  one  for  my 
motives  or  my  actions."  She  lifted  her  slender  form  haughtily. 

"  In  which  case,  the  public  has  a  habit  of  supplying  both." 

"  Then  accept  its  fabrications." 

"  You  need  not  be  so  fierce.  I  like  Dr.  Hartwell  quite  as  well 
BS  you  do,  I  dare  say;  but  probably  I  know  more  of  his  history." 

"  It  is  all  immaterial  to  me.  Drop  the  subject,  if  you  please, 
and  let  me  read  to  you.  I  believe  I  came  here  for  quiet  com- 
panionship, not  recrimination  and  cross-questioning." 

"  Beulah,  the  world  says  you  are  to  marry  your  guardian.  1 
do  not  ask  from  impertinent  curiosity,  but  sincere  friendship — is 
it  true  ?" 

"  About  as  true  as  your  notion  of  my  marriage  with  Eugene. 
\o;  scarcely  so  plausible." 

"  Our  families  were  connected,  you  know." 

"  No,  I  neither  know,  i?or  wish  to  know.  He  never  alladed 
^o  his  wife,  or  his  history,  and  I  have  just  UDW  no  desire  to  hear 
anything  about  the  matter.  He  is  the  best  friend  I  ever  had;  I 
want  to  honor  and  reverence  him  always;  and,  of  course,  the 
world's  version  of  his  domestic  affairs  does  him  injustice.  So  be 
good  enough  to  say  no  more  about  him." 

"  Yerv  well.     On  hearing  your  roice  from  the  parlor,  he  left 


BEULAH.  293 

a  small  parcel,  which  he  requested  me  to  give  you.  He  laid  il 
on  the  table,  I  believe;  yes,  there  it  is.  Now  read  'Egmont' 
to  me,  if  you  please." 

Cornelia  crossed  the  room,  threw  herself  on  a  conch,  and  set- 
tled her  pillow  comfortably.  Beulah  took  the  parcel,  which  waa 
•arefully  sealed,  and  wondered  what  it  contained.  It  was  heavy, 
and  felt  hard.  They  had  parted  in  anger;  what  could  it  possi- 
bly be  ?  Cornelia's  black  eyes  were  on  her  countenance.  She 
put  the  package  in  her  pocket,  seated  herself  by  the  couch,  and 
commenced  "  Egmont." 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  indescribable  relief  that  the  orphan 
avroke,  at  dawn  the  following  morning,  and  dressed  by  the  grey 
twilight.  She  had  fallen  asleep  the  night  before  amid  the  hum 
of  voices,  of  laughter,  and  of  dancing  feet.  Sounds  of  gaiety, 
from  the  merry  party  below,  had  found  their  way  to  the  cham 
ber  of  the  heiress,  and  when  Beulah  left  her  at  midnight,  she 
was  still  wakeful  and  restless.  The  young  teacher  could  not 
wait  for  the  late  breakfast  of  the  luxurious  Grahams,  and  jus» 
as  the  first  level  ray  of  sunshine  flashed  up  from  the  east,  she 
tied  on  her  bonnet,  and  noiselessly  entered  Cornelia's  room. 
The  heavy  curtains  kept  it  close  and  dark,  and  on  the  hearih  a 
taper  burned  with  pale,  sickly  light.  Cornelia  slept  soundly; 
but  her  breathing  was  heavy  and  irregular,  and  the  face  wore  a 
scowl,  as  if  some  severe  pain  had  distorted  it.  The  ivory-like 
arms  were  thrown  up  over  the  head,  and  large  drops  glistened 
on  the  wan  brow.  Beulah  stood  beside  the  bed  a  few  minutes; 
the  apartment  was  furnished  with  almost  oriental  splendor;  but 
how  all  this  satin,  and  rosewood,  and  silver,  and  marble,  mocked 
the  restless,  suffering  sleeper  ?  Beulah  felt  tears  of  compassion 
weighing  down  her  lashes,  as  she  watched  the  haggard  counte- 
nance of  this  petted  child  of  fortune;  but  unwilling  to  rouse  her, 
she  silently  stole  down  the  steps.  The  hall  was  dark;  the  smell 
of  gas  almost  stifling.  Of  course,  the  servants  followed -the 
example  of  their  owners,  and  as  no  one  appeared,  she  unlocked 
the  street  door,  and  walked  homeward  with  a  sensation  of  plea 


202  B  E  U  L  A  H . 

Durable  relief,  which  impressed  itself  very  legibly  r.n  lier  faco. 
The  sky  was  cloudless;  the  early  risen  sun  looked  over  the  earth 
in  dazzling  radiance  ;  and  the  cold,  pure,  wintry  air,  made  the 
I  blood  tingle  in  Beulah's  veins.  A  great,  unspeakable  joy  filled 
her  soul ;  the  uplifted  eyes  beamed  with  gladness;  her  brave, 
bopeful  spirit,  looked  into  the  future  with  unquestioning  trust; 
and  as  the  image  of  her  unhappy  friend  flitted  across  her  mind, 


I  she 


exclaimed  : 

"  This  world  is  full  of  beauty,  like  other  worlds  above  , 
And  if  we  did  our  duty,  it  might  be  full  of  lovo. ' 


She  ran  up  to  her  room,  threw  open  the  blinds,  .ooped  baei 
the  curtains,  and  drew  that  mysterious  package  from  her  pocket. 
She  was  very  curious  to  see  the  contents,  and  broke  the  seal 
with  trembling  fingers.  The  outer  wrappings  fell  off,  and  dis- 
closed an  oblong,  papier-mache  case.  It  opened  with  a  spring, 
mid  revealed  to  her  a  beautiful  watch  and  chain,  bearing  her 
name  in  delicate  tracery.  A  folded  slip  of  paper  lay  on  the 
crimson  velvet  lining  of  the  box,  and  recognizing  the  characters, 
she  hastily  read  this  brief  sentence : 

"  Wear  it  constantly,  Beulah,  to  remind  you  that,  in  adversity,  you  sd 
bare 

"  A  GUARDIAN." 

Tears  gushed  unrestrained,  as  she  looked  at  the  beautiful  gift, 
Not  for  an  instant  did  she  dream  of  accepting  it,  and  she  shrank 
shudderingly  from  widening  the  breach  which  already  existed,  by 
B  refasal.  Locking  up  the  slip  of  paper  in  her  workbox,  she 
returned  the  watch  to  its  case,  and  carefully  retied  the  parcel. 
Long  before,  she  had  wrapped  the  purse  in  paper,  and  prevailed 
on  Clara  to  give  it  to  the  doctor.  He  had  received  it  without 
comment,  but  she  could  not  return  the  watch  in  the  same  way, 
for  Clara  was  now  able  to  attend  regularly  to  her  school  duties, 
and  it  was  very  uncertain  when  she  would  see  him.  Yet  she  felt 
comforted,  for  this  gift  assured  her,  that  however  eoKriy  he  chose 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  293 

to  treat  her  when  they  met,  hfc  had  not  thrown  her  off  entirely 
With  all  her  independence,  she  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  hit 
utter  alienation  ;  and  the  consciousness  of  his  remaining  interest 
*hrilled  her  heart  with  gladness. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

ONS  Saturday  morning,  some  days  subsequent  to  her  visit  to 
the  Grahams,  Beulah  set  off  for  the  business  part  of  the  city. 
She  was  closely  veiled,  and  carried  under  her  shawl  a  thick  roll 
of  neatly  written  paper.  A  publishing  house  was  the  place  of  j 
her  destination;  and  as  she  was  ushered  into  a  small  back  room,  V 
to  await  the  leisure  of  the  gentleman  she  wished  to  see,  she  could 
not  forbear  smiling  at  the  novelty  of  her  position,  and  the  auda- 
city of  the  attempt  she  was  about  to  make.  There  she  sat,  in 
the  editor's  sanctum,  trying  to  quiet  the  tumultuous  beating  of  her 
heart.  Presently,  a  tall,  spare  man,  with  thin,  cadaverous  visage, 
entered,  bowed,  took  a  chair,  and  eyed  her  with  a  "  what-do-you- 
want"  sort  of  expression.  His  grizzled  hair  was  cut  short,  and 
stood  up  like  bristles,  and  his  keen  ome  eyes  were  by  no  means 
promising,  in  their  cold  glitter.  Benlah  threw  off  her  veil,  and 
aaid,  with  rather  an  unsteady  voice  : 

"  You  are  the  editor  of  the  magazine  published  here,  I  be- 
lieve P 

He  bowed  again,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  crossed  bit 
hands  at  the  back  of  his  head. 

"  I  came  to  offer  you  an  article  for  the  magazine."    She  threw 
flown  the  roll  of  paper  on  a  chair. 

"  Ah  !  —  hem  !  —  will  you  favor  me  with  your  name  ?" 

"  Beulah  Benton,  sir.     One  altogether  unknown  to  fame.* 

He  contracted  his  eyes,  coughed,  and  said,  constrainedly  • 


tf  :  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

*'  Are  you  a  subscriber  ?w 

"  I  aui. 

"  What  is  the  character  of  your  manuscript  ?"  He  took  it  of 
»s  he  spoke,  and  glanced  over  the  pages. 

'-'  You  can  determine  that  from  a  perusal.  If  the  sketch  suitfl 
fou,  I  should  like  to  become  a  regular  contributor." 

A  gleam  of  sunshine  strayed  over  the  countenance,  and  the 
editor  answered,  very  benignly  : 

"  If  the  article  meets  with  our  approbation,  we  shall  be  very 
happy  to  afford  you  a  medium  of  publication  in  our  journal.  Can 
we  depend  on  your  punctuality  ?" 

"  I  think  so.     What  are  your  terms  ?" 

"Terms,  madam?  I  supposed  that  your  contribution  was 
gratuitous,"  said  he,  very  loftily. 

"  Then  you  are  most  egregiously  mistaken  1  What  do  you 
magine  induces  me  to  write  ?" 

"  Why,  desire  for  fame,  I  suppose." 

"  Fame  is  rather  unsatisfactory  fare.  I  am  poor,  sir,  and 
irate  to  aid  me  in  maintaining  myself." 

"  Are  you  dependent  solely  on  your  own  exertions,  madam  ?'' 

"  Yes." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  aid  you  ;  but  now-a-days,  there  are 
plenty  of  authors,  who  write  merely  as  a  pastime,  and  we  have 
as  many  contributions  as  we  can  well  look  over." 

"  I  am  to  understand,  then,  that  the  magazine  is  suppoi  ted 
altogether  by  gratuitous  contributions  ?"  said  Beulah,  uuabie  to 
repress  a  smile. 

"  Why,  you  see,  authorship  has  become  a  sort  of  luxury,"  was 
the  hesitating  reply. 

"  I  think  the  last  nunber  of  your  magazine  contained,  among 
Other  articles  in  the  'editor's  drawer,'  an  earnest  appeal  to 
southern  authors  to  come  to  the  rescue  of  southern  periodicals  ?" 

*'  True,  madam  :  southern  intellect  seems  steeped  in  a  lethargy, 
from  which  we  are  most  faithfully  endeavoring  to  arouse  it." 

"  The  article  to  which  I  allude,  also  animadverted  severely 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  295 

cpon  the  practice  of  southern  authors  patronizing  northern  pil> 
lishing  establishments  ?" 

"  Most  certainly,  it  treated  the  subject  stringently."  H> 
moved  uneasily. 

"  I  believe  the  subscription  is  the  same  as  that  of  the  norther? 
periodicals  ?" 

A  very  cold  bow  was  the  only  answer. 

"  I  happen  to  know  that  northern  magazines  are  not  composed 
of  gratuitous  contributions  ;  and  it  is  no  mystery  why  southern 
authors  are  driven  to  northern  publishers.  Southern  periodicals 
are  mediums  only  for  those  of  elegant  leisure,  who  can  afford  tc 
write  without  remuneration.  With  the  same  subscription  price, 
you  cannot  pay  for  your  articles.  It  is  no  marvel  that,  under 
i>'ich  circumstances,  we  have  no  southern  literature.  Unluckily. 
I  belong  to  the  numerous  class  who  have  to  look  away  from 
home  for  remuneration.  Sir,  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  my 
ir.anuscript."  Eising,  she  held  out  her  hand  for  it ;  but  the  keen 
eyes  had  fallen  upon  a  paragraph  which  seemed  to  interest  the 
editor,  and  knitting  his  brows,  he  said,  reluctantly  : 

"  We  have  not  been  in  the  habit  of  paying  for  our  articles, 
but  I  will  look  over  this,  and  perhaps  you  can  make  it' worth  our 
while  to  pay  you.  The  fact  is,  madam,  we  have  more  trash  sent 
us  than  we  can  find  room  for  ;  but  if  you  can  contribute  anything 
of  weight,  why,  it  will  make  a  difference  of  course.  I  did  not 
recognize  you  at  first,  but  I  now  remember  that  I  heard  your 
valedictory  to  the  graduating  class  of  the  public  schools.  If  we 
should  conclude  to  pay  you  for  regular  contributions,  we  wish 
nothing  said  about  it." 

•  Very  well.  If  you  like  the  manuscript,  and  decide  to  pay 
me,  you  can  address  me  a  note  through  the  post-office.  Should 
I  write  for  the  magazine,  I  particularly  desire  net  to  be  known." 
She  lowered  her  veil,  and  most  politely  he  bowed  her  out.  She 
was  accustomed  to  spend  a  portion  of  each  Saturrlay  in  prac- 
tising duets  with  Georgia  Asbury,  and  thither  she  now  directed 
w  steps.  Unluckily,  the  parlor  was  full  of  visitors,  and  with 


296  B  E  U  L  A  B  . 

oat  seeing  any  of  the  family,  she  walked  back  into  the  musk 
room.  Here  she  felt  perfectly  at  home,  and  closing  the  door, 
forgot  everything  but  her  music.  Taking  no  heed  of  the  laps* 
of  time,  she  played  piece  after  piece,  until  startled  by  the  clear 
tones  of  the  doctor's  voice.  She  looked  up,  and  saw  him  stand1 
ing  in  the  door  which  opened  into  the  library,  taking  off  hii 
great-coat. 

"  Why,  Beulah,  that  room  is  as  cold  as  a  Texas  ncrther 
What  on  earth  are  yon  doing  there  without  a  fire  ?  Come  in 
here,  child,  and  warm  your  frozen  digits.  Where  are  those  two 
harum-scarum  specimens  of  mine  ?" 

"  I  believe  they  are  still  entertaining  company,  sir.  The 
parlor  was  full  when  I  came,  and  they  know  nothing  of  my  being 
here."  She  sat  down  by  the  bright  fire,  and  held  her  stiff  finger? 
toward  the  glowing  coals. 

"  YPS,  confound  their  dear  rattlepates  ;  that  is  about  the 
sum-total  of  their  cogitations."  He  drew  up  his  chair,  put  his 
feet  on  the  fender  of  the  grate,  and  lighting  his  cigar,  added  : 

"  Is  my  spouse  also  in  the  parlor  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so,  sir." 

"  Time  was,  Beulah,  when  Saturday  was  the  great  day  of 
preparation  for  all  housekeepers.  Bless  my  soul  !  My  rnotht. 
would  just  about  as  soon  have  thought  of  anticipating  the  dis- 
covery of  the  open  Polar  Sea,  by  a  trip  thither,  as  going  out  to 
visit  on  Saturday.  Why,  from  my  boyhood,  Saturday  has  been 
synonymous  with  scouring,  window-washing,  pastry-baking, 
stocking-darning,  and  numerous  other  venerable  customs,  which 
this  age  is  rapidly  dispensing  with.  My  wife  had  a  lingering 
reverence  for  the  duties  of  the  day,  and  tried  to  excuse  herself, 
but  I  suppose  those  pretty  wax  dolls  of  mine  have  coaxed  her 
Into  '  receiving,'  as  they  call  it.  Beulah,  my  wife  is  an  execp 
tion,  but  the  mass  of  married  women,  now-a-day,  instead  of  being 
thorough  housewives  (as  nature  intended  they  should),  are  deli 
cate,  do-nothing,  know-nothing,  fine  ladies.  They  have  nc 
duties.  '  0  tempora,  0  mores  !' "  He  paused  to  relight  hi» 


BEULAH.  297 

cigar,  and  just  then  Georgia  came  in,  dressed  very  richly.  1I« 
tossed  the  taper  into  the  grate,  and  exclaimed,  as  she  threw  hoi 
arms  round  his  neck  and  kissed  him  : 

"  You  pretty  imp  ;  what  is  to  pay  now  ?  Here,  Beulah  has 
been  sitting,  nobody  knows  how  long,  in  that  frigid  zone  yoa 
<mll  your  music-room.  What  are  you  rigged  out  in  all  thai 
finery  for  ?" 

"  We  are  going  to  dine  out  to-day,  father.  Beulah  will  excuse 
ine,  I  know." 

"Indeed!     Dine  where  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Delmont  came  round  this  morning  to  invite  us  to  diue 
with  some  of  her  young  friends  from  New  Orleans." 

"  Well,  I  shan't  go,  that  is  all." 

"  Oh,  you  are  not  expected,  sir,"  laughed  Georgia,  brushing 
the  grey  locks  from  his  ample  forehead. 

"  Not  expected,  eh  ?  Does  your  lady  mother  contemplate 
leaving  me  to  discuss  my  dinner  in  doleful  solitude  ?" 

"  No,  mother  has  gone  with  Mrs.  Rallston  to  see  about  some  ' 
poor,  starving  family  in  the  suburbs.     She  will  be  back  soon,  I  ; 
dare  say.     Mrs.  Delmont  has  sent  her  carriage,  and  Helen  ii  ' 
waiting  for  me  ;  so   I  must  go.     Beulah,  I  am  very  sorry,  wa 
have  been  cut  out  of  our  practising.     Don't  go  home  ;  stay 
with  mother  to-day,  and   when  I  come  back  we  will  have  a 
glorious  time.     Can't  you  now  ?     There's  a  darling." 

"  Oh,  you  wheedling,  hypocritical  madcap,  take  yourself  off ! 
Of  course  Beulah  will  try  to  endure  the  stupid  talk  of  a  poor 
old  man,  whose  daughters  are  too  fashionable  to  look  after  him, 
and  whose  wife  is  so  extremely  charitable  that  she  forgets  it 
4  begins  at  home.'  Clear  out,  you  trial  of  paternal  patience  !" ; 
He  kissed  her  rosy  lips,  and  she  hurried  away,  protesting  thai 
ihe  would  much  prefer  remaining  at  home. 

"  Beulah,  I  gave  Hartwell  that  parcel  yon  intrusted  tc  me. 
He  ooked  just  as  if  I  tad  plunged  him  into  a  snow-bank,  buf 
said  nothing." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

18* 


298  BED!  AH. 

"  Oh,  (ton't  thank  me  for  playing  go-between.  I  don't  relisi 
any  such  work  It  is  very  evident  that  you  two  have  quarrelled 
I  would  about  as  soon  consult  that  poker,  as  ask  Hartwell  whal 
Is  to  pay.  Now,  child,  what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  Nothing  new,  sir.  He  has  never  forgiven  me  for  turning 
«acher." 

"  Forgiven  I     Bless  me,  he  is  as  spiteful  as  a  Pequod." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  Dr.  Asbury,  he  is  no  such  thing," 
aied  Beulah,  impetuously. 

"  Just  what  I  might  have  expected.  I  am  to  understand, 
then,  that  you  can  abuse  my  partner  sufficiently  without  any 
vituperative  assistance  from  me  ?"  He  brushed  the  ashes  from 
bis  cigar,  and  looked  at  her  quizzically. 

"  Sir,  it  pains  me  to  hear  him  spoken  of  so  lightly." 

"  Lightly  I  Upon  my  word  I  thought  Indianic  malice  was 
rather  a  heavy  charge.  However,  I  can  succeed  better,  if  you 
will  ailow  " 

"  Don't  jest,  sir.     Please  say  no  more  about  him." 

His  face  became  instantly  grave,  and  he  answered  earnestly  : 

I        "  Beulah,  as  a  sincere  friend,   I  would   advise   you   not   to 

alienate  Hartwell.     There  are  very  few  such  men ;  I  do  not  know 

his  equal.     He  is  interested  in  your  welfare  and  happiness,  and 

,  is  the  best  friend  you  ever  had  or  ever  will  have." 

"  I  know  it,  and  prize  his  friendship  above  all  others." 

"  Then,  why  did  you  return  that  watch  ?  If  he  wished  you 
to  wear  it,  why  should  you  refuse  ?  Mark  me,  he  said  nothing 
about  it  to  me,  but  I  saw  the  watch,  with  your  name  engraved 
on  the  case,  at  the  jewelry  store  where  I  bought  one  just  like  it 
for  Georgia.  I  surmised  it  was  that  same  watch,  when  yoc 
Entrusted  the  package  to  me." 

"  I  was  already  greatly  indebted  to  him,  and  did  not  wish  to 
Increase  the  obligation.'' 

"  My  child,  under  the  circumstances,  you  were  too  fastidious, 
He  was  very  much  annoyed  ;  though,  as  I  told  you  before,  he 
aaade  no  allusion  to  the  anbjeot." 


B  B  r  L  A  H  .  29ft 

Yes  ;  1  knew  he  would  be,  and  I  am  very  sorry,  but  soolfl 
KM  think  of  accepting  it." 

'  Oh,  you  are  well  matched,  upon  my  word." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  That  you  are  both  as  proud  as  Ludfer,  and  as  savage  ai 
toathens.  Child,  I  don't  see  what  is  to  become  of  you." 

"  Every  soul  is  the  star  of  its  own  destiny,"  answered 
Beulah. 

"  Well,  very  sorry  destinies  the  majority  make,  I  can  tell  you. 
Have  you  seen  Mrs.  Lockhart  and  Pauline  ?" 

"  No.     I  was  not  aware  that  they  were  in  the  city." 

44  Lockhart's  health  is  miserable.  They  are  all  at  Hartwell's 
for  a  few  weeks,  I  believe.  Pauline  has  grown  up  a  perfect  Di 
Vernon  beauty." 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  see  her.  She  is  a  generous, 
noble-souled  girl." 

"  Yes,  I  rather  think  she  is.  Hartwell  said  the  other  day, 
that  Pauline  was  anxious  to  see  you  ;  and  since  I  think  of  it,  I 
believe  he  asked  me  to  tell  yon  of  her  arrival.  Now,  I  will 
wager  my  head  that  you  intend  to  wait  until  she  calls  formally, 
which  it  is  your  place  to  do." 

"  Then,  sir,  expect  immediate  decapitation,  for  I  shall  go  out 
to  see  her  this  very  afternoon,"  replied  Beulah. 

"  That  is  right,  my  dear  child." 

"  Dr.  Asbury,  if  you  will  not  think  me  troublesome,  1  should 
like  to  tell  you  of  some  things  that  perplex  me  very  much,"  said 
ghe,  hesitatingly. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  whatever  you  have  to  say,  aud  if  I 
can  possibly  help  you,  rest  assured  I  will.  What  perplexes  you  ?" 

"  A  great  many  things,  sir.  Of  late,  I  have  read  severa. 
works  that  have  unsettled  my  former  faith,  and  indeed  confused 
and  darkened  my  mind  most  miserably,  and  I  thought  you  might 
Aid  me  in  my  search  after  truth." 

He  threw  his  cigar  into  the  fire,  and  while  an  expression  of 
KWTOW  clouded  his  face,  said,  very  gravely  : 


800  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

"  Beulah,  I  am  afraid  I  am  one  of  the  last  persons  to  whoa 
you  should  apply  for  assistance.  Do  .he  perplexities  to  which 
you  allude  involve  religious  questions  ?; 

"  Yes,  sir,  almost  entirely." 

11 1  am  too  unsettled  myself  to  presume  to  direct  others." 

Bculuh  looked  up,  in  unfeigned  astonishment. 

"  You  certainly  are  not  what  is  termed  skeptical  f 

"  Most  sincerely  do  I  wish  that  I  was  not." 

There  was  a  short  silence,  broken  by  Beulah's  saying,  slowlj 
and  sorrowfully  : 

"'  You  cannot  aid  me,  then  !" 

"  I  am  afraid  not.  When  a  young  man,  I  was  thoroughly 
skeptical  in  my  religious  views  (if  I  may  be  said  to  have  had 
any).  At  the  time  of  my  marriage  I  was  an  infidel,  and  such 
the  world  still  calls  me.  If  1  am  riot  now,  it  is  because  my  wife's 
unpretending  consistent  piety  has  taught  me  to  revere  the  pre- 
cepts of  a  revelation  which  I  long  ago  rejected.  Her  pure  reli- 
gion makes  me  respect  Christianity,  which  once  I  sneered  at.  I 
am  forced  to  acknowledge  the  happy  results,  of  her  faith,  and  1 
rimy  yet  be  brought  to  yield  up  old  prejudices  and  confess  ita 
divine  origin.  I  am  no  Atheist,  thank  God  !  never  have  been, 
But  I  tell  you  candidly,  my  doubts  concerning  the  Bible  make 
me  an  unsafe  guide  for  a  mind  like  yours.  For  some  time,  I 
have  marked  the  course  of  your  reading,  by  the  books  I  missed 
from  my  shelves,  and  have  feared  just  what  has  happened.  On 
V  one  point  my  experience  may  be  of  value  to  you.  What  is  com- 
prised under  the  head  of  philosophical  research  will  never  aid  ot 
satisfy  you.  I  am  an  old  man,  Beulah,  and  have  studied  philoso- 
phic works  for  many  years  ;  but,  take  my  word  for  it,  the  mass 
of  them  are  sheer  humbug.  From  the  beginning  of  the  world, 
philosophers  have  been  investigating  the  countless  mysteries 
which  present  themselves  to  every  earnest  mind  ;  but  the  arcana 
u&re  as  inscrutable  now  as  ever.  I  do  not  wish  to  discourage  yon, 
Beulah  ;  nor  do  I  desire  to  underrate  human  capabilities  ;  but, 
In  all  candor,  this  kind  of  study  does  not  pay.  It  has  not  repaid 


BEFLAH.  80"* 

me — it  has  iiot  satisfied  Hartwell,  who  went  deeper  into  meta  / 
physics  than  any  one  I  know,  and  who  now  has  less  belief  of  any 
sort  than  any  one  I  ever  wish  to  know.  I  would  not  advise  yos 
to  prosecute  this  branch  of  study.  I  am  content  to  acknow- 
ledge that  of  many  things  I  know  nothing,  and  never  can  be  any 
f  iser  ;  but  Guy  Hartwell  is  too  proud  to  admit  his  incapacity  to 
grapple  with  some  of  these  mysteries.  Beulali,  my  wife  is  one 
of  the  happiest  spirits  I  ever  knew  :  she  is  a  consistent  Christian. 
When  we  were  married,  I  watched  her  very  closely  ;  I  tell  you, 
child,  I  hoped  very  much  that  I  should  find  some  glaring  incon- 
gruity in  her  conduct  which  would  have  sanctioned  my  skep- 
ticism. I  was  continually  on  the  lookout  for  defects  of  character 
that  might  cast  contempt  on  the  religion  she  professed.  I  did 
not  expect  her  to  prove  so  pure-hearted,  unselfish,  humble,  and 
genuinely  pious  as  I  found  her.  I  do  most  sincerely  revere  such 
religion  as  hers.  Ah  I  if  it  were  not  so  rare,  I  should  never 
have  been  so  skeptical.  She  has  taught  me  that  the  precepts  of 
the  Bible  do  regulate  the  heart  and  purify  the  life  ;  and 'to  you, 
child,  I  will  say,  candidly, '  almost  she  has  persuaded  me  to  be  a 
Christian.'  Whatever  of  " 

He  said  no  more,  for  at  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and 
Mrs.  Asbury  entered.  She  welcomed  Beulah  with  a  cordial  sin- 
cerity, singularly  soothing  to  the  orphan's  heart,  and  keeping 
her  hand  in  a  tight  clasp,  asked  several  questions,  which  her 
husband  cut  short  by  drawing  her  to  his  side. 

"  Where  have  you  been  straying  to,  madam  ?" 

"  Where  you  must  stray  to,  sir,  just  as  soon  as  you  start  out 
this  evening  on  your  round  of  visits." 

She  softly  smoothed  back  his  hair  and  kissed  his  forehead. 
She  was  a  noble-looking  woman,  with  a  tranquil  countenance 
that  betokened  a  serene,  cloudless  soul ;  and  as  she  stood  besid« 
her  husband,  his  eyes  rested  on  her  face  with  an  expression  bor  1 
tiering  on  adoration.     Beulah  could  not  avoid  wondering  why  j 
inch  women  were  so  very  rare,  and  the  thought  presented  itself 
with  painful  force,  "if  Cornelia  Graham  aud  T  had  had  such  •' 


802  BEULAH. 

mothers,  we  uifgfi'  both  have  been  happiei   and  better  "     Pro 

bably  something  of  what  crossed  her  mind  crept  iutc  hfti 
countenance,  for  the  doctor  asked,  laughingly  : 

"In  the  name  of  Venus  1  what  are  you  screwing  up  you  lips, 
and  looking  so  ugly  about  ?" 

"  I  suppose  one  reason  is,  that  I  must  go  home  "  She  rose 
with  a  suppressed  sigh. 

"  I  am  disposed  to  think  it  much  more  probable  that  you  were 
envying  me  my  wife.  Come,  confess." 

"  I  was  wishing  that  I  had  such  a  mother." 

With  some  sudden  impulse  she  threw  her  arms  round  Mra 
Asbury's  neck,  and  hid  her  face  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Then  let  me  be  your  mother,  my  dear  child,"  said  she,  press- 
ing the  girl  affectionately  to  her  heart,  and  kissing  her  pale 
cheek. 

"Are  you  troubled  about  anything,  my  dear  ?"  continued  Mrs. 
Asbury,  surprised  at  this  manifestation  of  feeling  in  one  usually 
go  cold  and  reserved. 

"  An  orphan  heart  mourns  its  dead  idols,"  answered  Beulah, 
rasing  her  head,  and  withdrawing  from  the  kind  arm  that  encir- 
dcd  her.  Mrs.  Asbury  interpreted  u  quick  glance  from  her  hus- 
band, and  did  not  press  the  matter  further  ;  but  at  parting,  she 
accompanied  Beulah  to  the  front  door,  and  earnestly  assured 
her  that  if  she  could  iu  any  way  advise  or  assist  her  she  would 
consider  it  both  a  privilege  and  a  pleasure  to  do  so.  Returning 
to  the  library,  she  laid  her  soft  hand  on  her  husband's  arm,  aud 
raid  anxiously  : 

"  George,  what  is  the  matter  with  her  ?" 

"  She  is  distressed,  or  rather  perplexed  about  her  religions 
doubts,  I  inferred  from  what  she  said  just  before  you  came  in 
ghe  has  drifted  out  into  a  troubled  sea  of  philosophy,  I  am 
*nelined  to  think,  and  not  satisfied  with  what  she  has  found,  ii 
now  irresolute  as  to  the  proper  course.  Poor  child,  she  is  ter 
ribly  in  earnest  about  the  matter."  He  sighed  heavily. 

His  wife  watched  him  eagerly. 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  808 

"  What  did  you  tell  her  ?" 

"  Not  to  come  to  me  ;  that  it  would  be  a  perfect  exemplifica 
lion  of  '  the  blind  leading  the  blind  ;'  and  when  she  learned  mj 
own  state  of  uncertainty,  she  seemed  to  think  so  herself." 

An  expression  of  acute  pain  passed  over  her  features,  but 
banishing  it  as  speedily  as  possible,  she  answered  very  gentlv  : 

"  Take  care,  my  husband,  lest  by  recapitulating  your  doubts, 
you  strengthen  hers." 

"  Alice,  I  told  her  the  whole  truth.     She  is  not  a  nature  to  be 
put  off  with  half-way  statements.     Hartweli  is  an  avowed  infidd, 
and  she  knows  it ;  yet  I  do  not  believe  his  views  have  weighed 
with  her  against  received  systems  of  faith.     My  dear  Alice,  thig"1 
Spirit  of  skepticism  is  scattered  far  and  wide  over  the  land  ;  1 
meet  with  it  often  where  I  least  expect  it.     It   broods  like  a 
hideous  nightmare  over  this  age,  and  Beulah  must  pass  through 
the  same  ordeal  which  is  testing  the  intellectual  portion  of  every 
community.     But — there  is  that  eternal  door-bell.     Let  us  havej 
dinner,  Alice,  I  must  go  out  early  this  afternoon." 

He  took  down  a  pair  of  scales,  and  began  to  weigh  some 
medicine.  His  wife  wisely  forbore  to  renew  the  discussion,  and 
ringing  the  bell  for  dinner,  interested  him  with  an  account  of 
her  visit  to  a  poor  family,  who  required  his  immediate  attention 

With  a  heart  unwontedly  heavy,  Beulah  prepared  to  call  upon 
Pauline,  later  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day.  It  was  not  com- 
panionship she  needed,  for  this  was  supplied  by  books,  and  the 
sensation  of  loneliness  was  one  with  which  she  had  not  yet  been 
made  acquainted  ;  but  she  wanted  a  strong,  healthy,  cultivated 
intellect,  to  dash  away  the  mists  that  were  wreathing  about  her 
own  micd.     Already,  the  lofty,  imposing  structure  of  self-reliance  ' 
began  to  rock  to  its  very  foundations.     She  was  nearly  ready  for  ; 
her  walk,  when  Mrs.  Hoyt  came  in. 

"  Miss  Beulah,  there  is  a  lady  in  the  parlor  waiting  I*  sec 
you." 

"Is  it  Miss  Graham  T 

"  No.     She  is  a  stranger,  and  gave  no  name." 


804  B  E  D  L  A  H  . 

Beulah  descended  to  the  parlor  in  ratlu-r  an  ungracious  mood 
As  she  entered,  a  lady  sprang  to  meet  her,  with  both  hands  ex 
tended.  She  was  superbly  beautiful,  with  a  complexion  of 
dazzling  whiteness,  and  clear,  radiant,  violet  eyes,  over  which 
ardied  delicately  pencilled  brows.  The  Grecian  mouth  and  chin 
were  faultlessly  chiselled;  the  whole  face  was  one  of  rare  love- 
liness. 

"  You  don't  know  me  1  For  shame,  Beulah,  to  forget  old 
friends." 

"  Oh,  Pauline,  is  it  you  ?     I  am  very  glad  to  &ee  you." 

"Don't  say  that  for  politeness'  sake!  Here  I  have  been  foi 
ten  days  and  you  have  not  stirred  a  foot  to  see  me." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  in  town  till  this  morning,  and  just 
us  >ou  came  I  was  putting  on  my  bonnet  to  go  and  see  you." 

"  Are  you  telling  the  truth  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  positively  I  am." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  you  felt  disposed  to  see  me.  After  my 
ancle,  you  and  Charon  are  all  I  cared  anything  about  meeting 
here.  Bless  your  dear,  solemn,  grey  eyes  !  how  often  I  have 
wanted  to  see  you." 

The  impulsive  girl  threw  her  arms  round  Beulah's  neck,  and 
kissed  her  repeatedly. 

"Be  quiet,  and  let  me  look  at  you.  Oh,  Pauline,  how  beauti- 
ful you  have  grown  1"  cried  Beulah,  who  could  not  forbear  ex- 
pressing the  admiration  she  felt. 

"  Yes  ;  the  artists  in  Florence  raved  considerably  about  my 
beauty.  I  can't  tell  you  the  number  of  times  I  sat  for  my  por- 
trait. It  is  very  pleasant  to  be  pretty  ;  I  enjoy  it  amazingly," 
aid  she,  with  all  the  candor  which  had  characterized  her  in 
hildhood  ;  and  with  a  vigorous  squeeze  of  Benlah's  hand,  she 
ontinued  : 

"  I  was  astonished  when  I  came,  and  found  that  yon  had  left 
Uncle  Guy,  and  were  teaching  little  ragged,  dirty  children  their 
A,  B,  Cs.  What  possessed  you  to  do  such  a  silly  thing  ?" 

"  Duty,  my  dear  Pacline." 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  80i 

1  Ob,  for  heaven's  sake,  don't  begin  about  duty.  Ernest n- 

She  paused,  a  rich  glow  swept  over  her  face,  and  shaking  bacS 
her  curls,  she  added  : 

"  You  must  quit  all  this.     _  say  you  must  1" 

"  I  see  you  are  quite  as  reckless  and  scatter-brained  as  ever," 
itswered  Beulah,  smiling  at  her  authoritative  tone. 

"  No,  I  positively  am  not  the  fool  Uncle  Guy  used  to  think  me 
I  have  more  sense  than  people  give  me  credit  for,  though  I  dare 
say  I  shall  find  you  very  skeptical  on  the  subject.  Beulah,  1 
know  very  well  why  you  took  it  into  your  wise  head  to  be  a 
teacher.  You  were  unwilling  to  usurp  what  you  considered  my 
place  in  Uncle  Guy's  home  and  heart.  You  need  not  straighten 
yourself  in  that  ungraceful  way.  I  know  perfectly  well  it  is  tin 
truth  ;  but  I  am  no  poor,  suffering,  needy  innocent,  that  you 
should  look  after.  I  am  well  provided  for,  and  don't  intend  tc 
take  one  cent  of  Uncle  Guy's  money,  so  you  might  just  as  well 
have  the  benefit  of  it.  I  know,  too,  that  you  and  ma  did  not 
exactly  adore  each  other.  I  understand  all  about  that  old  skir- 
mishing. But  things  have  changed  very  much,  Beulah  ;  so  you 
must  quit  this  horrid  nonsense  about  working,  and  being  inde- 
pendent." 

"  How  you  do  rattle  on,  about  things  you  don't  comprehend," 
laughed  Beulah. 

"  Come,  don't  set  me  down  for  a  simpleton  1  I  tell  you  I  am 
In  earnest  !  You  must  come  back  to  Uncle  Guy  1" 

"  Pauline,  it  is  worse  than  useless  to  talk  of  this  matter.  I 
de'.'ided  long  ago  as  to  what  I  ought  to  do,  and  certainly  shall 
not  change  my  opinion  now.  Tell  me  what  you  saw  in  Europe." 

"  "Why,  has  not  Eugene  told  you  all  you  wish  to  know  ? 
AprDpos  !  I  saw  him  at  a  party  last  night,  playing  the  devoted 
to  that  little  beauty,  Netta  Dupres.  We  were  all  in  Paris  at 
the  same  time.  I  don't  fancy  her  ;  she  is  too  insufferably  vain 
ind  affected.  It  is  my  opinion  that  she  is  flirting  with  Eugene^ 
which  must  be  qiite  agreeable  to  you.  Oh,  I  tell  you,  Beulab 
I  could  easily  put  her  mind,  heart  and  soul,  in  my  thimble  I" 


I  J6  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

"  I  did  not  ask  yoar  estimate  of  Miss  Dupres.  I  waut  to  knon 
something  of  your  European  t:mr.  I  see  Eugene  very  rarely." 

"  Oh  !  of  course  we  went  tD  see  all  the  sights,  and  very  stupid 
it  was.  Mr.  Lockhart  scolded  continually  about  my  want  of 
taste  and  appreciation,  because  I  did  not  utter  all  the  interject 
tions  of  delight  and  astonishment  over  old,  tumble-down  ruins, 
»nd  genuine  '  master-pieces '  of  art,  as  he  called  them.  Upon  in, 
word,  I  have  been  tired  almost  to  death,  when  he  and  ma 
descanted  by  the  hour,  on  the  '  inimitable,  and  transcendent,  and 
entrancing'  beauties  and  glories  of  old  pictures,  that  were  actually 
so  black  with  age,  that  they  looked  like  daubs  of  tar,  and  I 
could  not  tell  whether  the  figures  were  men  or  women,  archan- 
gels or  cow-drivers.  Some  things  I  did  enjoy  ;  such  as  the  Alps, 
and  the  Mediterranean,  and  St.  Peter's,  and  Westminster  Abbey, 
and  some  of  the  German  cathedrals.  But  as  to  keeping  ruy 
finger  on  the  guide-book,  and  committing  all  the  ecstasy  to 
memory,  to  spout  out  just  at  the  exact  moment,  when  I  saw 
nothing  to  deserve  it,  why  that  is  all  fudge.  I  tell  you  there  is 
nothing  in  all  Europe  equal  to  our  Niagara  I  I  was  heartily 
glad  to  come  home,  though  I  enjoyed  some  things  amazingly.7' 

"  How  is  Mr.  Lockhart's  health  ?" 

"  Very  poor,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  He  looks  so  thin  and  pale,  1 
often  tell  him  he  would  make  quite  as  good  a  pictured  saint  as 
any  we  saw  abroad." 

"  How  long  will  you  remain  here  ?" 

"  Till  Uncle  Guy  thinks  Mr.  Lockhart  is  well  enough  to  go  to 
bis  plantation,  I  suppose." 

"  What  makes  you  so  restless,  Pauline  ?  Why  don't  you  sit 
ftill  ?"  asked  Beulah,  observing  that  her  visitor  twisted  about,  as 
U  uncomfortable. 

"  Because  I  want  to  tell  you  something,  and  really  do  not 
know  how  to  begin,"  said  she,  laughing  and  blushing. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  what  should  disconcert  you,  Pauline." 

11  Thank  you.  Truly,  that  is  a  flattering  tribute  to  my  aensi 
bility.  Beulah,  can't  ycu  guess  what  I  have  to  tell  you  ?" 


B  E  D  L  A  H  .  301 

"  Certaijuy  uot.     But  why  should  you  hesitate  to  disclose  it  ?* 

"  Simply  because  your  tremendous  grey  eyes  have  such  aa 
ftwlish  way  of  looking  people  out  of  countenance.  Now  don't 
Jook  quite  througa  me,  and  I  will  pluck  up  my  courage,  and  con- 
fess. Beulah — I  am  going  to  be  married  soon."  She  hid  he? 
srimsoned  cheeks  behind  her  hands. 

"  Married  ?  impossible  1"  cried  Beulah, 

"  But  I  tell  you  I  am  1  Here  is  my  engagement  ring.  Now, 
the  most  astonishing  part  of  the  whole  affair  is,  that  my  intended 
sovereign  is  a  minister  1  A  preacher,  as  solemn  as  Job  1" 

You  a  minister's  wife,  Pauline  ?     Oh,  child,  you  are  jesting  1"  | 
haid  Beulah,  with  an  incredulous  smile. 

"  No  1  absurd  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  nevertheless  true.  I  am 
to  be  married  in  March.  Ma  says  I  am  a  fool ;  Mr.  Lockhart 
encourages  and  supports  me  ;  and  Uncle  Guy  laughs  heartily 
every  time  the  affair  is  alluded  to.  At  first,  before  we  went  to 
Europe,  there  was  violent  opposition  from  my  mother,  but  she 
found  I  was  in  earnest,  and  now  it  is  all  settled  for  March. 
Uncle  Guy  knows  Ernest  Mortimor,  and  esteems  him  very 
highly,  but  thinks  that  I  am  the  last  woman  in  the  United  States 
who  ought  to  be  a  minister's  wife.  I  believe  he  told  Ernest  as 
much,  but  of  course  he  did  not  believe  him." 

"  Where  does  Mr.  Mortimor  reside  ?" 

"  In  Georgia  ;  has  charge  of  a  church  there.  He  had  a  sister 
at  the  same  school  I  attended  in  New  York  ;  and  during  a  visit 
to  her,  he  says  he  met  his  evil-angel  in  me.  He  is  about  five' 
years  my  senior  ;  but  he  is  here  now,  and  you  will  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  forming  your  own  opinion  of  him." 

•  How  long  have  you.  known  him  ?" 

"  About  two  years.     I  am  rather  afraid  of  him,  to  tell  yea  1 
the  honest  truth.     He  is  so  grave,  and  has  such  rigid  notions,  ' 
that  I  wonder  very  much  what  ever  induced  his  holiness  to 
fancy  such  a  heedless  piece  of  womanhood,  as  he  is  obliged  tc 
know  I  am;  for  I  never  put  on  any  humility  or  sanctity.     What 
do  you  think,  Beulah  ?    Uncle  Guy  coolly  told  me,  this  morning; 


308  BEDLA.H. 

in  Ernest's  presence,  that  he  was  only  charmed  by  my  prtttj 

face,  and  that  if  I  did  not  learn  some  common  sense,  he  would 

very  soon  repent  his  choice.     Oh,  the  doleful  warnings  I  hava 

i   been  favored  with  !     But  you  shall  all  see  that  I  am  worthy  cf 

'  Mr.  Mortimer's  love  " 

Her  beautiful  face  was  "adiant  with  hope,  yet  in  the  rioiet 
eyes,  there  lurked  unshed  tears. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  are  so  happy,  Pauline  ;  and  if  yon 
will,  I  am  very  sure  you  can  make  yourself  all  that  Mr.  Morti- 
mor  could  desire." 

"  I  am  resolved  I  will.  Yesterday  he  talked  to  me  very 
seriously  about  the  duties  which  he  said  would  devolve  on  me. 
I  tried  to  laugh  him  out  of  his  sober  mood,  but  he  would  talk 
about  'pastoral  relations,'  and  what  would  be  expected  of  a 
pastor's  wife,  until  I  was  ready  to  cry  with  vexation.  Ernest 
is  not  dependent,  on  his  salary;  his  father  is  considered  wealthy, 
I  believe,  which  fact  reconciles  ma  in  some  degree.  To-morrow 
he  will  preach  in  Dr.  Hew's  church,  and  you  must  go  to  hear 
\  him.  1  have  never  yet  heard  him  preach,  and  am  rather  anxioub 
to  kuow  what  sort  of  sermons  I  am  to  listen  to  for  the  remain- 
<  der  of  my  life."  She  looked  at  her  watch,  and  rose. 

"  I  shall  certainly  go  to  hear  him,"  answered  Beulah. 

"  Of  course  you  will,  and  after  service  you  must  go  houie  an<1 
spend  the  day  with  me.  Ma  begs  that  you  will  not  refuse  tu 
dine  with  her  ;  and  as  you  are  engaged  all  the  week,  Uncle  Guy 
expects  you  also  ;  that  is,  he  told  me  to  insist  on  your  coming, 
but  thought  you  would  probably  decline.  Will  you  come  ?  De 
lay  yes." 

"  I  don't  know  yet     I  will  see  you  at  church  * 

Thus  they  partnL 


809 


CHAITEK     XXIV 

Ox  Sabbath  morning,  Beulah  sat  beside  the  window,  with  her 
&«lded  hands  resting  on  her  lap.  The  day  was  cloudless  and 
serene  ;  the  sky  of  that  intense  melting  blue  which  characterizes 
car  cliine.  From  every  quarter  of  the  city  brazen  muezzins 
called  worshippers  to  the  temple,  and  bands  of  neatly  clad, 
.happy  children  thronged  the  streets,  on  their  way  to  Sabbath 
school.  Save  these,  and  the  pealing  bells,  a  hush  pervaded  all 
things,  as  though  nature  were  indeed  "  at  her  prayers."  Blessed 
be  the  hallowed  influences  which  every  sunny  Sabbath  morn 
exerts  1  Blessed  be  the  holy  tones,  which  at  least  once  a  week 
call  every  erring  child  back  to  its  Infinite  Father  I  For  some 
time  Beulah  had  absented  herself  from  church,  for  she  found 
that  instead  of  profiting  by  sermons,  she  came  home  to  criticise 
and  question.  But  early  associations  are  strangely  tenacious,'"* 
and  as  she  watched  the  children  trooping  to  the  house  of  God, 
there  rushed  to  her  mind  memories  of  other  years,  when  the 
orphan  bands  from  the  Asylum  regularly  took  their  places  in 
the  Sabbath  school.  The  hymns  she  sang  then  rang  again  in^ 
her  ears  ;  long-forgotten  passages  of  Scripture,  repeated  then, 
seemed  learned  but  yesterday.  How  often  had  the  venerable 
superintendent  knelt  and  invoked  special  guidance  for  the 
afflicted  band  from  the  God  of  orphans  ?  Now  she  felt  doubly 
orphaned.  In  her  intellectual  pride,  she  frequently  asserted  that  / 
she  was  "  the  star  of  her  own  destiny  ;"  but  this  morning  I 
childish  memories  prattled  of  the  Star  of  Bethlehem,  before 
srhich  she  once  bent  the  knee  of  adoration.  Had  it  set  forever., 
arnid  clouds  of  superstition,  sin  and  infidelity  ?  Glittering  spire? 
pointed  to  the  bending  heavens,  and  answered  :  "  It  burns  ou 
forever,  '  brighter  and  brighter  unto  the  perfect  day  V"  WitJr 


810  R  E  U  L  A  H  . 

a  dull  weight  cm  her  heart,  she  took  down  her  Bilxc  and  opened 
it  indifferently  at  he  book-mark.  It  proved  the  thirty-eighth 
chapter  of  Job,  and  she  read  on  and  on,  until  the  bells  warned 
her  it  was  the  hour  of  morning  service.  She  walked  to  church, 
not  humbled  and  prepared  to  receive  the  holy  teachings  of  revela 
tion,  but  with  a  defiant  feeling  in  her  heart,  which  she  did  not 
attempt  or  care  to  analyze.  She  was  not  accustomed  to  attend 
Dr.  Hew's  church,  but  the  sexton  conducted  her  to  a  pew,  and 
us  she  seated  herself,  the  solemn  notes  of  the  organ  swelled 
through  the  vaulted  aisles.  The  choir  sang  a  magnificent 
anthern  from  Haydn's  "  Creation,*'  and  then  only  the  deep,  thun- 
dering peal  of  the  organ  fell  on  the  dim,  cool  air.  Beulah  could 
bear  no  more  ;  as  she  lowered  her  veil,  bitter  tears  gushed  over 
aer  troubled  face.  Just  then,  she  longed  to  fall  on  her  kucca 
before  the  altar  and  renew  the  vows  of  her  childhood  ;  but  this 
impulse  very  soon  died  away,  and  while  the  pews  on  every  side 
rapidly  filled,  she  watched  impatiently  for  the  appearance  of  the 
minister.  Immediately  in  front  of  her  sat  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Graham 
and  Antoinette  Dupres.  Beulah  was  pondering  the  absence  of 
\  Cornelia  and  Eugene,  when  a  full,  manly  voice  fell  on  her  ear, 
'•  and  looking  up,  she  saw  Mr.  Mortimor  standing  in  the  pulpit. 
He  looked  older  than  Pauline's  description  had  prepared  her  to 
expect,  and  the  first  impression  was  one  of  disappointment.  But 
the  longer  she  watched  the  grave,  quiet  face,  the  more  attrac- 
tive it  became.  -,  Certainly  he  was  a  handsome  man,  and,  judging 
from  the  contour  of  head  and  features,  an  intellectual  one. 
There  was  an  absolute  repose  in  the  countenance,  which  might 
have  passed  with  casual  observers  for  inertia,  indifference;  but 
I  to'  the  practised  physiognomist,  it  expressed  the  perfect  peace 
of  a  mind  and  heart,  completely  harmonious.  The  voice  v»a» 
remarkably  clear  and  well  modulated.  His  text  was  selected 
from  the  first  and  last  chapters  of  Ecclesiastes,  and  consisted 
of  these  verses  : 

"  For  in  much  wisdom  is  much  grief ;  and  he  ttat  increaseth 
knowledge,  increaseth  sorrow." 


BKULAH.  3X1 

"  And  further,  by  these,  my  son,  be  admonished ;  of  making 
many  books  there  is  no  end,  and  much  study  is  a  weatiness  ol 
the  flesh.  Let  us  hear  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter 
Fear  God,  and  keep  his  commandments,  for  this  is  the  whola 
duty  of  man." 

To  the  discourse  which  followed,  Beulah  listened  with  taa 
deepest  interest.  She  followed  the  speaker  over  the  desert  ;1 
ancient  oriental  systems,  which  he  rapidly  analyzed,  and  held  up 
as  empty  shells;  lifting  the  veil  of  soufism,  he  glanced  at  the 
mystical  creed  of  Algazzali;  and  in  an  epitomized  account  of  the 
Grecian  schools  of  philosophy,  depicted  the  wild  vagaries  into 
which  many  had  wandered,  and  the  unsatisfactory  results  to 
which  all  had  attained.  Not  content  with  these  instances  of  the 
insufficiency  and  mocking  nature  of  human  wisdom  and  learning, 
he  adverted  to  the  destructive  tendency  of  the  Helvetian  and 
D'Holbach  system,  and  after  a  brief  discussion  of  their  ruinous 
tenets,  dilated,  with  some  erudition,  upon  the  conflicting  and 
dangerous  theories  propounded  by  Germany.  Then  came  the 
contemplation  of  Christianity,  from  its  rise  among  the  fishermen 
of  Galilee  to  its  present  summit  of  power.  For  eighteen  hun- 
dred years  it  had  been  assaulted  by  infidelity,  yet  each  century 
saw  it  advancing — a  conquering  colossus.  Throughout  the  ser-  , 
rnon,  the  idea  was  maintained  that  human  reason  was  utterly 
inadequate  to  discover  to  man  his  destiny,  that  human  learning  j 
was  a  great  cheat,  and  that  only  from  the  pages  "of  Iloly  Writ 
could  genuine  wisdom  be  acquired.  Men  were  to  be  as  little 
children  in  order  to  be  taught  the  truths  of  immortality.  Cer- 
tainly, the  reasoning  was  clear  and  forcible,  the  philosophic 
allusions  seemed  very  apropos,  and  the  language  was  eiegant 
and  impassioned.  The  closing  hymn  was  sung ;  the  '  organ 
bushed  its  worshipping  tones;  the  benediction  was  pronounced; 
the  congregation  dispersed. 

As  Beulah  descended  the  steps,  she  found  Pauline  and  Mra 
Lockhart  waiting  at  the  carriage  for  her.  The  latter  greeted 
her  with  quite  a  shcMr  of  cordiality  j  but  the  orphan  shrank  batk 


812  BEULAH. 

from  the  offered  kiss,  and  merely  touched  the  extended  hand 
She  had  not  forgotten  the  taunts  and  unkindness  of  other  daysj 
and  though  not  vindictive,  she  could  not  feign  oblivion  of  the 
past,  nor  assume  a  friendly  manner  foreign  to  her.  She  took 
"ler  seat  in  ihe  carnage,  and  found  it  rather  difficult  to  with- 
arnw  her  fascinated  eyes  from  Pauline's  lovely  face.  She  knew 
What,  was  expected  of  her,  however;  and  said,  as  they  drovt 
rapidly  homeward: 

"Mr.  Mortimer  seems  to  be  a  man  of  more  than  ordinary 
erudition." 

"  Did  you  like  his  sermon?  Do  you  like  him?"  asked  Pauline, 
eagerly. 

"  I  like  him  very  much,  indeed;  bat  do  not  like  his  sermon  ai 
all,"  answered  Beuiah,  bluntly. 

"  1  am  sure  everybody  seemed  to  be  delighted  with  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Lockhart. 

"Doubtless  the  majority  of  his  congregation  were;  and  I  was 
»ery  much  interested,  though  1  do  not  accept  his  views.  His 
Delivery  is  remarkably  impressive,  and  his  voice  is  better  adapted 
to  the  pulpit  than  any  I  have  ever  listened  to."  She  strove  to 
say  everything  favorable  which,  in  candor,  she  could. 

"  Still  you  did  not  like  his  sermon  ?"  said  Pauline,  gravely. 

"  I  cannot  accept  his  conclusions." 

"  I  liked  the  discourse  particularly,  Pauline.  I  wish  Percy 
could  have  heard  it,"  said  Mrs.  Lockhart. 

The  daughter  took  no  notice  whatever  of  this  considerate 
speech,  and  sat  quite  still,  looking  more  serious  than  Beuiah 
had  ever  seen  her.  Conversation  flagged,  despite  the  young 
teacher's  efforts,  and  she  was  heartily  glad  when  the  carriage 
entered  the  avenue.  Her  heart  swelled  as  she  caught  sight  of 
the  noble  old  cedars,  whose  venerable  heads  seemed  to  bow  ic 
welcome,  while  the  drooping  branches  held  out  their  arms,  as  if 
to  embrace  her.  Each  tree  was  familiar;  3veu  the  bright  coral 
yupon  clusters  were  like  dear  friends  greeting  her  after  a  long 
absence.  She  had  never  realized  until  now  how  much  she  loved 


BEULAH.  813 

his  home  of  her  early  childhood,  and  large  drops  dimmed  hei 
eyes  as  she  passed  along  the  walks  where  she  had  so  often  wan- 
dcred.  The  carriage  approached  the  house,  and  she  saw  her 
quondam  guardian  standing  before  the  door.  He  was  bare- 
beaded,  and  the  sunshine  fell  like  a  halo  upon  his  brown, 
clustering  hair,  threading  it  with  gold.  He  held,  in  one  hand, 
a  small  basket  of  grain,  from  which  he  fed  a  flock  of  hungry 
pigeoni.  On  every  side  they  gathered  about  him — blue  and 
white,  brown  and  mettled — some  fluttering  down  from  the  roof 
of  the  house;  two  or  three,  quite  tarae,  perched  on  his  arm,  eat- 
ing from  the  basket;  and  one,  of  uncommon  beauty,  sat  on  hia 
shoulder,  cooing  softly.  By  his  side  stood  Charon,  looking 
gravely  on,  as  if  he,  wise  soul,  thought  this  familiarity  signally 
impudent.  It  was  a  singularly  quiet,  peaceful  scene,  which 
indelibly  daguerreotyped  itself  on  Beulah's  memory.  As  the 
carriage  whirled  round  the  circle,  and  drew  up  at  the  door,  the 
Btartled  flock  wheeled  off;  and  brushing  the  grain  from  his 
nands,  Dr.  Hartwell  advanced  to  assist  his  sister.  Pauline 
sprang  tnit  first,  exclaiming: 

"  You  abominable  heathen  1  Why  didn't  you  comu  to  church  ? 
Even  Dr.  Asbury  was  out." 

"  Guy,  you  missed  an  admirable  sermon,"  chimed  in  Mrs. 
Lockhart. 

He  was  disengaging  the  fringe  of  Pauline's  sh,  wl,  which 
caught  the  button  of  his  coat,  and  looking  up  as  his  sister  spoke, 
his  eyes  met  Beulah's  anxious  gaze.  She  had  wondered  very 
much  how  he  would  receive  her.  His  countenance  expressed 
neither  surprise  nor  pleasure  ;  he  merely  held  out  hia  hand  to 
Assist  her,  saying,  in  his  usnal  grave  manner : 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Benlnli." 

She  looked  up  in  his  face  for  some  trace  of  the  old  kindness, 
But  the  rare,  fascinating  smile  and  protective  tenderness  had 
utterly  vanished.  He  returned  her  look  with  a  calmly  indifferent 
glance,  which  pained  her  mor3  than  any  amount  of  sternness 
•wuld  have  done.  She  snatched  her  hand  fr^in  his,  and,  missing 


814  BECLAn, 

the  carriage-step,  would  have  fallen,  but  he  cautrht  and  placed 
her  safely  on  the  ground,  saying  coolly  : 

"  Take  care  ;  you  are  awkward." 

She  followed  Pauline  up  the  steps,  wishing  herself  at  home  in 
her  little  room.  But  her  companion's  gay  chat  diverted  her 
miud,  and  she  only  remembered  how  very  beautiful  was  the  fa^e 
she  looked  on. 

They  stood  together  before  a  mirror,  smoothing  their  hair  and 
Beulah  could  not  avoid  contrasting  the  images  reflected.  One 
was  prematurely  grave  and  thoughtful  in  its  expression—the 
other,  radiant  with  happy  hopes.  Pauline  surmised  what  was 
passing  in  her  friend's  mind,  and  said  merrily  : 

"  For  shame,  Beulah  !   to  envy  me  my  poor  estate  of  good 

looks  1    Why,  I  am  all  nose  and  eyes,  curls,  red  lips  and  cheeks; 

but  you  have  an  additional  amount  of  brains  to  balance  my 

|  gifts.     Once  I  heard  Uncle  Guy  say  that  you  hud  uiore  intellect 

1  than  all  the  other  women  and  children  in  the  town  1     Come, 

Mr   Lockhart  wants  to  see  you  very  much." 

She  ran  down  the  steps  as  heedlessly  as  in  her  childhood,  and 
Beulah  followed  her  more  leisurely.  In  the  study  they  found  the 
remainder  of  the  party  ;  Mr.  Lockhart  was  wrapt  in  a  heavy 
dressing-gown,  and  reclined  on  the  sofa.  He  welcomed  Beulah 
very  warmly,  keeping  her  hand  in  his,  and  making  her  sit  down 
near  him.  He  was  emaciated,  and  a  hacking  cough  prevented 
his  taking  any  active  part  in  the  conversation.  One  glance  at 
his  sad  face  sufficed  to  show  her  that  his  days  on  earth  were 
numbered,  and  the  expression  with  which  he  regarded  his  wifj 
told  all  the  painful  tale  of  an  unhappy  marriage.  She  was  dis- 
cussing the  sermon,  and  declaring  herself  highly  gratified  at  the 
impression  which  Mr.  Mortiraor  had  evidently  made  on  his  large 
and  fashionable  congregation.  Dr.  Hartwell  stood  on  the  hearth, 
listening  in  silence  to  his  sister's  remarks.  The  Atlantic  mighv 
have  rolled  between  them,  for  any  interest  lie  evinced  in  tha 
subject.  Pauline  was  restless  and  excited  ;  finally  she  crossed 
tie  room,  stood  close  to  her  uucle,  and  carelessly  fingering  hia 


BEULAE.  315 

wetcl  JiaiL,   said   earnestly :    "  Uncle   Guy,  what  did    Ernest 
mean,  this  morning,  by  a  '  Fourieristic-phalaux  ?'  " 

"  A  land  where  learned  men  are  captivated  by  blue  eyes  and 
rosy  lips,"  answered  the  doctor,  looking  down  into  her  sparkling 
face. 

As  they  stood  together,  Beulah  remarked  how  very  modi 
Pauline  resembled  him.  True,  he  was  pale,  and  she  was  a  veiy 
Hebe,  but  the  dazzling  transparency  of  the  complexion  was  tho 
same  ;  the  silky  nut-brown  hair  the  same,  and  the  classical  chisel- 
ling of  mouth  and  nose  identical.  Her  eyes  were  "  deeply, 
darkly,"  matchlessly  blue,  and  his  were  hazel ;  her  features  wero 
quivering  with  youthful  joyousness  and  enthusiasm,  his  might 
have  been  carved  in  ivory,  they  seemed  so  inflexible,  still  they 
were  alike.  Pauline  did  not  exactly  relish  the  tone  of  his  reply, 
and  said  hastily  : 

'  Uncle  Guy,  I  wish  you  would  not  treat  me  as  if  I  were  an 
idiot ;  or  what  is  not  much  better,  a  two-year  old  child  !  How 
am  I  ever  to  learn  any  sense  ?" 

"  Indeed,  I  have  no  idea,"  said  he,  passing  his  soft  hand  over 
her  glossy  curls. 

"  You  are  very  provoking  1  Do  you  want  Ernest  to  think  me 
a  fool  r 

"  Have  you  waked  to  a  consciousness  of  that  danger  ?" 

"Yes,  and  I  want  you  to  teach  me  something.  Come,  tell  me 
what  that  thing  is  I  asked  you  about." 

"Tell  you  what?" 

•'  Why,  what  a — a  '  Fourieristic-phalanx '  is  ?"  said  she,  earn- 
estly. 

Beulah  could  not  avoid  smiling,  and  wondered  how  he  man 
»ged  to  look  so  very  serious,  as  he  replied  : 

"  I  know  very  little  about  the  tactics  of  Fourieristic-phalanxef, 
but  believe  a  phalange  is  a  community  or  association  of  about 
eighteen  hundred  persons,  who  were  supposed  or  intended  to 
practise  the  Fourieristic  doctrines.  In  fine,  a  phalange  is  a  son 
of  Freiijh  Utopia." 


816  .  BED  L  AH. 

"  And  where  is  thai  sir  ?"  asked  Pauline,  innocently  without 
'.aking  ner  eyes  from  his  face. 

"  Utopia  is  situated  in  No-country,  and  its  chief  city  is  on  the 
hanks  of  the  river  Waterless." 

"Oli,  Uncle  Guy  I  how  can  you  quiz  me  so  unmercifully,  when 
\  ask  you  to  explain  things  to  me  ?" 

"  Why,  Pauline,  I  am  answering  your  questions  correctly. 
Sir  Thomas  More  professed  to  describe  Utopia,  which  means  No« 
place,  and  mentions  a  river  Waterless.  Don't  look  so  despe- 
rately lofty.  1  will  show  you  the  book,  if  you  are  so  incorrigibly 
stupid."  He  passed  his  arm  round  her,  as  he  spoke,  and  kept 
her  close  beside  him. 

"  Mr.  Lockhart,  is  he  telling  the  truth  ?"  cried  she,  incredu- 
lously. 

"  Certainly  he  is,"  answered  her  step-father,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  believe  either  of  you  !  You  two  think  that  I 
am  simple  enough  to  believe  any  absurdity  you  choose  to  tell  me. 
Beulah,  what  is  Utopia  ?" 

"  Just  what  your  uncle  told  you.  More  used  Greek  words 
which  signified  nothing,  in  order  to  veil  the  satire." 

"  Oh,  a  satire  I  Now,  what  is  the  reason  you  could  not  say  it 
was  a  satire,  you  wiseacre  ?" 

"  Because  1  gave  you  credit  for  some  penetration,  and  at  least 
common  sense." 

"  Both  of  which  I  have  proved  myself  devoid  of,  I  suppose  ? 
Thank  you."  She  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  kissed  hi  hi 
once  or  twice,  and  laughingly  added  :  "  Come,  now,  Uncle  Guy, 
tell  me  what  these  '  phalanxes,'  as  you  call  them,  have  to  do 
Tilth  Ernest's  text  ?" 

"  1  really  cannot  inform  you.  There  is  the  dinner-bell." 
('nclasping  her  arms,  he  led  the  way  to  tht  diniug-rooin. 

Later  in  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Lockhart  retired  to  his  own  room; 
his  wife  fell  asleep  on  the  sofa,  and  Beulah  and  Pauline  sat  at 
the  parlor  window,  discussing  the  various  occurrences  of  their 
long  separation.  Pauline  talked  of  her  future — how  bright  H 


BEULAH.  31  3 

was  j  how  very  much  she  and  Ernest  I  >ved  each  other,  and  how 
busy  she  would  be  when  she  had  a  home  of  her  own.  She  sup 
posed  she  would  be  obliged  to  give  up  dancing  ;  she  had  aE 
indistinct  idea  that  preachers'  wives  were  not  in  the  habit  of 
indulging  in  any  such  amusements,  and  as  for  the  theatre  and 
opera,  she  rather  doubted  whether  either  were  tc  be  found  ic 
the  inland  town  where  she  was  to  reside.  Uncle  Guy  wished  to 
furnish  the  parsonage,  and,  among  other  things,  had  ordered  an 
elegant  piano  for  her ;  she  intended  to  practise  a  great  deal, 
because  Ernest  was  so  fond  of  music.  Uncle  Guy  had  a  hateful 
h^bit  of  lecturing  her  about  "domestic  affairs,"  but  she  imagined 
the  cook  would  understand  her  own  business  ;  and  if  Mr.  Morti«  "1 
mor  supposed  she  was  going  to  play  housemaid,  why,  she  would 
very  soon  undeceive  him.  Beulah  was  much  amused  at  the 
cLild-like  simplicity  with  which  she  discussed  her  future,  and 
began  to  think  the  whole  affair  rather  ludicrous,  when  Pauline 
started,  and  exclaimed,  as  the  blood  dyed  her  cheeks  : 

"  There  is  Ernest  coming  up  the  walk  1" 

He  came  in,  and  greeted  her  with  gentle  gravity.  lie  was  a  i 
dignified,  fine-looking  man,  with  polished  manners,  and  perfect  , 
self-possession.  There  was  no  trace  of  austerity  in  his  counte- 
nance, and  nothing  in  his  conversation  betokening  a  desire  to 
impress  strangers  with  Ms  ministerial  dignity.  He  was  highly 
cultivated  in  all  his  tastes,  agreeable,  and,  in  fine,  a  Christian 
gentleman.  Pauline  seemed  to  consider  his  remarks  oracular, 
and  Beulah  could  not  forbear  contrasting  her  quietness  in  his 
presence,  with  the  wild,  frolicsome  recklessness  which  character- 
ized her  manner  on  other  occasions.  She  wondered  what  singu- 
lar freak  induced  this  staid,  learned  clergyman  to  select  a 
companion  so  absolutely  antagonistic  in  every  element  of  charao 
tor.  But  a  glance  at  Pauline's  perfectly  beautiful  face  explained 
the  mystery.  How  could  any  one  help  loving  her,  she  was  sc  ( 
radiant  and  so  winning  in  bur  unaffected  artlessness.  Beulab 
coajectured  that  they  might,  perhaps,  entertain  each  other  with 
out  her  assistance,  and  soon  left  them  for  the  greenhouse,  which 


318  BEULAH. 

was  connected  with  the  parlors  by  a  glass  door.  Followed  o» 
Charon,  who  had  remained  beside  her  all  day,  she  walked  slowly 
between  the  rows  of  plants,  many  of  which  were  laden  with 
flowers.  Brilliant  clusters  of  scarlet  geranium,  pale,  fragrant 
heliotropes,  and  camellias  of  every  hue  surrounded  her.  Two  or 
three  canary  birds,  in  richly  ornate  cages,  chirped  and  twittered 
continually,  and  for  a  moment  she  forgot  the  changes  that  had 
taken  place  since  the  days  when  she  sought  this  favorite  green- 
house to  study  her  text-books.  Near  her  stood  an  antique  china 
vase  containing  a  rare  creeper,  now  full  of  beautiful,  star-shaped 
lilac  flowers.  Many  months  before,  her  guardian  had  given  her 
this  root,  and  she  had  planted  it  in  this  same  vase  ;  now  the 
long,  graceful  wreaths  were  looped  carefully  back,  and  tied  to  a 
slender  stake.  She  bent  over  the  fragrant  blossoms,  with  a 
heart  brimful  of  memories,  and  tears  dropped  thick  and  fast  on 
the  delicate  petals.  Charon  gave  a  short  bark  of  satisfaction, 
and  raising  her  head,  she  saw  Dr.  Hartwell  at  the  opposite  end 
of  the  greenhouse.  He  was  clipping  the  withered  flowers  from 
a  luxuriant  white  japonica,  the  same  that  once  furnished  orna- 
ments for  her  hair.  Evidently,  he  was  rather  surprised  to  see 
her  there,  but  continued  clipping  the  faded  blossoms,  and  whis- 
tled to  his  dog.  Charon  acknowledged  the  invitation  by 
another  bark,  but  nestled  his  great  head  against  Beulah,  and 
stood  quite  still,  while  she  passed  her  hand  caressingly  over  him. 
She  fancied  a  smile  crossed  her  guardian's  lips,  but  when  he 
turned  toward  her,  there  was  no  trace  of  it,  and  he  merer? 
said  : 

"  Where  is  Pauline  T" 

"  In  the  parlor,  with  Mr.  Mortimor." 

"  Here  are  the  scissors  ;  cut  as  many  flowers  as  you  like." 

He  hell  out  the  scissors,  but  she  shook  her  head,  and  answered, 
testily  : 

"  Thank  yon,  I  do  not  want  any." 

He  looked  at  her  searchingly,  and  observing  unshed  tear*  il 
Her  eyes  said,  in  a  kinder  tone  than  he  had  yet  employed  : 


BEULAH.  31$ 

"  Beulah,  what  do  you  want  ?" 

M  Something  that  I  almost  despair  of  obtaining." 

"  Child,  you  are  wasting  your  strength  and  energies  in  a  fruit 
L.4S  undertaking.  Already  you  have  grown  thin  and  hollow* 
e  'ed  ;  your  accustomed  contented,  cheerful  spirit,  is  deserting 
j  -u,  5four  self-appointed  task  is  a  hopeless  one  ;  utterly  hope 
lew  !" 

"  t  will  not  believe  it,"  said  she,  firmly. 

"  Very  well  ;  some  day  you  will  be  convinced  that  you  are 
no  I  infallible."  He  smiled  grimly,  and  busied  himself  with  his 
flowers. 

"  Sir,  you  could  help  me,  if  you  would."  She  clasped  her 
hands  o/er  his  arm,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  his  countenance,  with 
all  ihe  confidence  and  dependence  of  other  days. 

"  Did  I  ever  refuse  you  anything  you  asked  ?"  said  he,  looking 
dowu  at  the  little  hands  on  his  arm,  and  at  the  pale,  anxious 
face,  with  its  deep,  troubled  eyes. 

"  No  I  and  it  is  precisely  for  that  reason  that  I  ask  assistance 
from  you  iiow." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  reduced  to  the  last  necessity.  What  haa 
become  of  your  pride,  Beulah  ?" 

"  It  is  all  here,  in  my  heart,  sir  !  thundering  to  me  to  walk 
out  and  leave  you,  since  you  are  so  unlike  yourself." 

He  looked  stern,  and  indescribably  sad.  She  glanced  np  an 
instant  at  his  fascinating  eyes,  and  then  laying  her  head  down  on 
his  arm,  as  she  used  to  do  in  childhood,  said,  resolutely  : 

"  Oh,  sir  1  you  must  aid  me  Whom  have  I  to  advise  me  bu\ 
you  ?" 

"  My  advice  has  about  as  much  weight  with  you  as  Charon's 
would,  could  he  utter  it.  I  am  an  admirable  counsellor,  only  st 
long  as  my  opinions  harmonize  with  the  dictates  of  yoar  owi; 
Kill.  How  am  I  to  aid  you?  I  went,  at  twelve  o'clock  last 
night,  to  see  a  dying  man,  and  passing  along  the  street,  saw  a 
tight  burning  from  your  window.  Two  hours  later,  as  I  returned, 
t  glimmered  there  still.  Why  were  you  up  ?  Benlah.  what  if 


820  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

the  matter  with  you  ?  Has  your  last  treatise  on  the  *  Origin  ?f 
Ideas '  run  away  with  those  of  its  author,  and  landed  you  both 
in  a  region  of  vagaries  ?  Remember,  I  warned  you." 

"  Something  worse,  sir." 

"  Perhaps  German  metaphysics  have  stranded  you  on  th* 
I 'leak,  bald  cliffs  of  Pyrrhonism  ?" 

"  b:rf  it  seems  to  me  there  is  a  great  deal  of  unmerited  odium 
laid  upon  the  innocent  shoulders  of  German  metaphysics.  People 
declaim  against  the  science  of  metaphysics,  as  if  it  were  the 
disease  itself,  whereas  it  is  the  remedy.  Metaphysics  'do  not 
originate  the  trouble  ;  their  very  existence  proves  the  priority 
of  the  disease  which  they  attempt  to  relieve" — 

"  Decidedly  a  homoeopathic  remedy,"  interrupted  her  guar- 
dian, smiling. 

"  But,  sir,  the  questions  which  disturb  my  mind  are  older  than 
my  acquaintance  with  so-called  philosophic  works.  They  havo 
troubled  me  from  rny  childhood." 

''  Nevertheless,  I  warned  you  not  to  explore  my  library,"  said 
he,  with  a  touch  of  sorrow  in  his  voice. 

"  How,  then,  can  you  habitually  read  books  which  you  are 
unwilling  to  put  into  ray  hands  ?" 

"To  me  all  creeds  and  systems  are  alike  null.  With  you, 
Bctilab,  it  was  once  very  different." 

"  Once  !  yes,  once  1"  She  shuddered  at  the  wild  waste  into 
which  she  had  strayed. 

"  What  are  the  questions  that  have  so  long  disturbed  you  ?" 

"  Questions,  sir,  which,  all  my  life,  have  been  printed  on  even 
ing  sun- flushed  clouds,  on  rosy  sea  shells,  on  pale,  sweet,  delicate 
blossoms,  and  which  I  have  unavailingly  sought  to  answer  for 
jnyself.  There  are  mysteries  in  physics,  morals  and  metaphy- 
sics,  that  have  wooed  me  on  to  an  investigation  ;  but  the  furtbn 
I  wander,  deeper  grows  the  darkness.  Alone,  and  unaided,  1 
Lave  been  forced  to  brave  these  doubts  ;  I  have  studied,  and 
read,  and  thought.  Cloudy  symbolisms  mock  me  on  every  side  ; 
Uid  the  more  earnestly  I  strive  to  overtake  truth,  the  tighter 


BEULAH.  S2i 

prow  my  gyves  Now,  sir,  yon  are  much  older  ;  rou  have  scaled  I 
the  dizzy  heights  of  science,  and  carefully  explored  the  mines  of  | 
philosophy  ;  and  if  human  learning  will  avail,  then  you  can  help 
me.  It  is  impossible  for  you  to  have  lived  and  studied  so  long, 
without  arriving  at  some  conclusion  relative  to  these  vexing 
•jBcstions  of  this  and  every  other  age.  I  want  to  know  whether*" 
I  have  ever  lived  before  ;  whether  there  is  not  an  anterior  life  of 
my  soul,  of  which  I  get  occasional  glimpses,  and  the  memory  of 
which  haunts  and  disquiets  me.  This  doubt  has  not  been  engen 
dered  by  casual  allusions  to  Plato's  '  reminiscence  theory  f 
before  I  knew  there  was  such  a  doctrine  in  existence,  I  have" 
sat  by  your  study  fire,  pondering  some  strange  coincidences,  for 
which  I  could  not  account.  It  seemed  an  indistinct  outgoing 
into  the  far  past ;  a  dim  recollection  of  scenes  and  ideas,  older 
than  the  aggregate  of  my  birth-days  :  now  a  flickering  light, 
then  all  darkness  ;  no  clew  ;  all  shrouded  in  the  mystery  ol 
voiceless  ages.  I  tried  to  explain  these  psychological  phenomena 
by  the  theory  of  association  of  ideas,  but  they  eluded  an  aualy. 
sis  ;  there  was  no  chain  along  which  memory  can  pass.  They  } 
were  like  ignesfatui,  flashing  up  from  dank  caverns,  and  dying 
out  while  I  looked  upon  them.  As  I  grew  older,  I  found  strange 
confirmation  in  those  curious  passages  of  Coleridge  and  Words-  ; 
worth,*  and  continually  I  propound  to  my  soul  these  questions  : 
'  If  you  are  immortal,  and  will  exist  through  endless  ages,  have 
you  not  existed  from  the  beginning  of  time  ?  Immortality  knows 
neither  commencement  nor  ending.  If  so,  whither  shall  I  go, 
when  this  material  frame-work  is  dissolved,  to  make  other  frame- 
works, to  a  final  rest  ?  or  shall  the  I,  the  me,  the  soul,  lose  iia 
farmer  identity  ?  Am  I  a  minute  constituent  of  the  all-diffused, 
All  perva'ling  Spirit,  a  breath  of  the  Infinite  Essence,  one  day  tc 
be  divested  of  my  individuality  ?  or  is  God  an  awful,  gigantic, 
Immutable,  isolated  Personality  ?  If  EO,  wha*  medium  of  com 


*  Coleridge's  "  Sonnet  on  the  birth  of  a  son/     Wo-d*wor*h't 
Vntimations  of  Immortality." 

u* 


822  B  E  D  L  A  H  . 

tnunitation  is  afforded  ?  Can  the  spiritual  coramui.e  with  mat 
ter  ?  Can  the  material  take  cognizance  of  the  purely  spiritual 
an J  divine  ?'  Oh,  sir  !  T  know  that  yon  do  not  accept  the  holj 
nw.'ti  of  Galilee  as  His  deputed  oracles.  Tell  me  where  you  find 
surer  prophets  !  Only  show  me  the  truth — the  eternal  truth 
fcud  I  would  give  my  life  for  it  1  Sir,  how  can  you  smile  at  such 
questions  as  these  ;  questions  involving  the  soul's  destiny  ?  One 
might  fancy  you  a  second  Parrhasius." 

She  drew  back  a  step  or  two,  and  regarded  him  anxiously, 
nay,  pleadingly,  as  though  he  held  the  key  to  the  Temple  of 
Truth,  and  would  not  suffer  her  to  pass  the  portal.  A  sarcastic 
emile  lighted  his  Apollo-like  face,  as  he  answered  : 

"There  is  more  truth  in  your  metaphor  than  you  imagined  ; 
a  la  Parrhasius,  I  do  see  you,  a  tortured  Prometheus,  chained 
by  links  of  your  own  forging  to  the  Caucasus  of  Atheism.  But 
listen  to  " 

"  No,  no  ;  not  that  1  not  Atheism  !  God  save  me  from  that 
deepest,  blackest  gulf  1"  She  shuddered,  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands. 

"  Beulah,  you  alone  must  settle  these  questions  with  your  own 
soul  |  my  solutions  would  not  satisfy  you.  For  thousands  of 
years  they  have  been  propounded,  and  yet  no  answer  comes 
down  on  the  '  cloudy  wings  of  centuries.'  Each  must  solve  to 
suit  his  or  her  peculiar  conformation  of  mind.  My  child,  if  I 
could  aid  you,  1  would  gladly  do  so  ;  but  I  am  no  Swedenborg, 
to  whom  the  arcana  of  the  universe  have  been  revealed." 

"  Still,  after  a  fashion,  you  have  solved  these  problems  ;  may 
I  not  know  what  your  faith  is  ?"  said  she,  earnestly. 

"  Child,  I  have  no  faith  1  I  know  that  I  exist ;  that  a  beau- 
tiful universe  surrounds  me,  and  I  am  conscious  of  a  multitude 
»f  conflicting  emotions  ;  but,  like  Launcelot  Smith,  I  doubt 
whether  I  am  '  to  pick  and  choose  myself  out  of  myself.'  Further 
than  this,  I  would  assure  you  of  nothing.  I  stand  on  the  ever 
lasting  basis  of  all  skepticism,  '  there  is  no  criterion  of  troth  F 
All  must  be  but  subjectively,  relatively  true  " 


B  E  U  L  A  II  .  823 

"  Sir,  this  may  be  so  as  regards  psychological  abstractions  j 
hat  can  you  be  contented  with  this  utter  negation  of  the  grand 
problems  of  ontology  ?" 

"  A  profound  philosophic  writer  of  the  age  intimates  that  the 
Tariona  psychological  systems  which  have  so  long  vexed  the 
world,  are  but  veiled  ontologic  speculations.  What  matters  the 
machinery  of  ideas,  but  as  enabling  philosophy  to  cope  success 
fully  with  ontology  ?  Philosophy  is  a  huge  wheel,  which  has 
been  revolving  for  ages  ;  early  metaphysicians  hung  their  finely- 
spun  webs  on  its  spokes,  and  metaphysicians  of  the  nineteenth 
century  gaze  upon  and  renew  the  same  pretty  theories  as  the 
Wheel  revolves.  The  history  of  philosophy  shows  but  a  repro- 
duction of  old  systems  and  methods  of  inquiry.  Beulah,  no  mine 
of  ontologic  truth  has  been  discovered.  Conscious  of  this,  out 
Beers  tell  us  there  is  nothing  now  but  '  eclecticism  !'  Ontology  is 
old  as  human  nature,  yet  the  stone  of  Sisyphus  continues  to  roil 
back  upon  the  laboring  few  who  strive  to  impel  it  upward.  Oh, 
child,  do  you  not  see  how  matters  stand  ?  Why,  how  can  the 
finite  soul  cope  with  Infinite  Being  ?  This  is  one  form — the 
other,  if  we  can  take  cognizance  of  the  Eternal  and  Self-Existing 
Being,  underlying  all  phenomena,  why,  then,  we  are  part  and 
parcel  of  that  Infinity.  Pantheism  or  utter  skepticism — there  is 
no  retreat." 

"I  don't  .want  to  believe  that,  sir.  I  will  not  believe  it. 
What  was  my  reason  given  to  me  for  ?  Was  this  spirit  of  inquiry 
after  truth  only  awakened  in  my  soul  to  mock  me  with  a  sense 
of  my  nothingness  ?  Why  did  my  Maker  imbue  me  with  an  in- 
satiable thirst  for  knowledge  ?  Knowledge  of  the  deep  thing! 
of  philosophy,  the  hidden  wonders  of  the  universe,  the  awful 
mysteries  of  the  shadowy  spirit  realm  ?  Oh,  there  are  analogies 
pervading  all  departments  I  There  is  physical  hunger  to  goad 
\o  exertions  which  will  satisfy  its  demands,  and  most  tonics  are 
bitter  ;  so,  bitter  struggles  develop  and  strengthen  the  soul,  even 
as  hard  study  invigorates  the  mind,  and  r.  imerous  sorrows  chasten 
oe  heart.  There  is  truth  for  the  earne  t  seeker  somewhere  - 


£24  BEULAH. 

somewhere  !  If  1  live  a  thousand  years,  I  will  toil  after  il 
till  I  find  it.  If,  as  you  believe,  death  is  annihilation,  then  will 
I  make  the  most  of  my  soul  while  I  have  it.  Oh,  sir,  what  is  life 
for  ?  Merely  to  eat  and  drink,  to  sleep  and  to  be  dothed  ?  ]? 
it  to  be  only  a  constant  effort  to  keep  soul  and  body  together  f 
If  I  thought  so,  I  would  rather  go  back  to  nothingness  this  daj 
—this  hour  1  No,  no.  My  name  bids  me  press  on  ;  there  is  a 
land  of  Beulah  somewhere  for  cay  troubled  spirit.  Oh,  I  will  go 
back  to  my  humble  home,  and  study  on,  unguided,  unassisted 
even  as  I  have  begun.  I  cannot  rest  on  your  rock  of  negation." 

She  could  not  control  her  trembling  voice,  and  tears  of  bitter 
disappointment  fell  over  her  pale,  Cxed  features.  A  melancholy 
smile  parted  Dr.  HartwelPs  lips,  and  smoothing  the  bands  of 
rippling  hair  which  lay  on  her  white  brow,  he  answered  in  hia 
own  thrilling,  musical  accents  : 

"  Child,  you  are  wasting  your  energies  in  vain  endeavors  to 
build  up  walls  of  foam,  that " 

"  Sir,  I  am  no  longer  a  child  1     I  am  a  woman,  and  " 

"  Yes,  my  little  Beulah,  and  your  woman's  heart  will  not  be 
satisfied  long  with  these  dim  abstractions,  which  now  you  chase 
BO  eagerly.  Mark  me,  there  surely  comes  a  time  when  you  will 
loathe  the  bare  name  of  metaphysics.  You  are  making  a  very 
hot-bed  of  your  intellect,  while  your  heart  is  daily  becoming  a 
dreary  desert.  Take  care,  lest  the  starvation  be  so  complete, 
that  eventually  you  will  be  unable  to  reclaim  it.  Dialectics 
aiiswer  very  well  in  collegiate  halls,  but  will  not  content  you. 
Remember  '  Argemone.' " 

"  She  is  a  miserable  libel  on  woman's  nature  and  intellect.  I 
«curn  the  attempted  parallel  1"  answered  Beulah,  indignantly. 

"  Very  well  ;  mark  me  though,  your  intellectual  priae  will  yet 
Meek  your  happiness." 

He  walked  out  of  the  greenhouse,  whistling  to  Charon,  who 
bounded  after  him.  Beulah  saw  from  the  slanting  sunlight  that 
vhe  afternoon  was  far  advanced,  and  feeling  in  no  mood  to  listen 
to  Pauline's  nonsense,  she  found  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and 


EEULAB.  32S 

repaired  to  the  parlor  to  say  good  bye  to  the  happy  pair,  wh« 
seemed  unconscious  of  her  long'  absence.  As  she  left  the  house, 
the  window  of  the  study  was  thrown  open,  and  Dr.  Hartwell 
Called  out,  carelessly : 

"  Wait,  aud  let  me  order  the  carriage." 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"  1  am  going  into  town  directly,  and  can  take  you  home  li 
the  buggy." 

"  I  will  not  trouble  you  ;  I  prefer  walking.     Good  bye." 

He  bowed  coldly,  and  she  hurried  away,  glad  to  reach  the  gate,  j 
and  feel  that  she  was  once  more  free  from  his  searching  glance,  \ 
aud  beyond  the  sound  of  his  reserved,  chilling  tones.  As  she 
walked  on,  groups  of  happy  parents  and  children  were  seen  ia 
every  direction,  taking  their  quiet  Sabbath  ramble  through  the 
suburbs  ;  and  as  joyous  voices  and  innocent  laughter  fell  upon 
the  still  air,  she  remembered  with  keen  sorrow  that  she  had  no 
ties,  no  kindred,  no  companions.  Lilly's  cherub  face  looked  out 
at  her  from  the  sombre  frame  of  the  past,  and  Eugene's  early 
friendship,  seemed  now  a  taunting  spectre.  In  her  warm,  loving" V 
heart  were  unfathomable  depths  of  intense  tenderness  ;  was  it 
the  wise  providence  of  God  which  sealed  these  wells  of  affection, 
or  was  it  a  grim,  merciless  fate  which  snatched  her  idols  from 
her,  one  by  one,  and  left  her  heart  desolate  ?  Such  an  iuquiry 
darted  through  her  mind,  but  she  put  it  resolutely  aside,  and 
consoled  herself  much  after  this  fashion  :  "  Why  should  I  ques- 
tion the  circumstances  of  my  life  ?  If  the  God  of  Moses  guards 
his  creation,  all  things  are  well.  If  not,  life  is  a  lottery,  and 
though  I  have  drawn  blanks  thus  far,  the  future  may  contain  a 
prize,  and  for  me  that  prize  may  be  the  truth  my  soul  pants 
ifter.  I  have  no  right  to  complain  ;  the  very  loneliness  of  my 
position  fits  me  peculiarly  for  the  work  I  have  to  do.  I  will 
labor,  and  be  content."  The  cloud  passed  swiftly  from  he* 
countenance,  and  she  looked  up  to  the  quiet  sky  with  a 
Vopeful  heart. 


BKULAH. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

AMONG  the  number  of  gentlemen  whom  Beulah  occasionallj 
ma1:  at  Dr.  A.sbury's  house,  were  two  whose  frequent  visits  and 
general  demeanor  induced  the  impression  that  they  were  more 
than  ordinarily  interested  in  the  sisters.  Frederick  Vincent 
evinced  a  marked  preference  for  Georgia,  while  Horace  Maxwell 
was  conspicuously  attentive  to  Helen.  The  former  was  wealthy, 
handsome,  indolent,  and  self-indulgent ;  the  latter  rather  supe- 
rior, as  to  business  habits,  which  a  limited  purse  peremptorily 
demanded.  Doubtless  both  would  have  passed  as  men  of 
]  medium  capacity,  but  certainly  as  nothing  more.  In  fine,  they 
!  were  fair  samples,  perfect  types  of  the  numerous  class  of  fashion- 
•  able  young  men  who  throng  all  large  cities.  Good-looking,  vain, 
impudent,  heartless,  frivolous,  and  dissipated  ;  adepts  at  the 
gaming-table  and  pistol  gallery,  ciphers  in  an  intelligent,  refined 
assembly.  They  smoked  the  choicest  cigars,  drank  the  most 
costly  wines,  drove  the  fastest  horses,  and  were  indispensable  at 
champagne  and  oyster  suppers.  They  danced  and  swore,  visited 
and  drank,  with  reckless  indifference  to  every  purer  and  nobler 
aim.  Notwithstanding  manners  of  incorrigible  effrontery  which 
gharacterized  their  clique,  the  ladies  alvrays  received  them  with 
marked  expressions  of  pleasure,  and  the  entree  of  the  "first 
Circle  "  was  certainly  theirs.  Dr.  Asbury  knew  comparatively 
I'ttle  of  the  young  men  who  visited  so  constantly  at  his  house, 
but  of  the  two  under  discussion  he  chanced  to  know,  that  they 
TF^re  by  no  means  models  of  sobriety,  having  met  them  late  ono 
Bight  as  they  supported  each  other's  tottering  forms  homeward, 
after  a  card  and  wine  party,  vbich  ended  rather  disastrously 
for  woth.  He  openly  avowed  his  discontent  at  the  intimacy 
their  frequent  visits  induced,  and  wondered  how  his  daughter! 


B  E  u  L  A  a .  827 

could  patiently  indulge  in  the  heartless  chit-chat  whi.;h  alonf 
could  enter taiu  them.  But  he  was  a  fond,  almost  doting  father,  ] 
and  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted,  that  the}  were  mere  danchg 
acquaintances,  whose  society  must  be  endured.  Mrs.  Asbury 
was  not  so  bliud,  and  discovered,  with  keen  sorrow  and  dismay 
that  Georgia  was  far  more  partial  to  Vincent  than  she  had 
dreamed  possible.  The  mother's  heart  ached  with  dread,  lest 
her  child's  affections  were  really  enlisted,  and  without  her  hus- 
band's knowledge  she  passed  many  hours  of  bitter  reflection,  as 
to  the  best  course  she  should  pursue  to  arrest  Vincent's  inti- 
macy at  the  house.  Only  a  woman  knows  woman's  heart,  and  | 
she  felt  that  Georgia's  destiny  would  be  decided  by  the 
measures  she  now  employed.  Ridicule,  invective,  and  even 
remonstrance,  she  knew  would  only  augment  her  interest  in 
One  whom  she  considered  unjustly  dealt  with.  She  was 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  obstinacy  which  formed  the 
stamen  of  Georgia's  character,  and  very  cautiously  the  mater- 
nal guidance  must  be  given.  She  began  by  gravely  regretting 
the  familiar  footing  Mr.  Vincent  had  acquired  in  her  family,  and 
urged  upon  Georgia  and  Helen  the  propriety  of  discouraging 
attentions  tliat  justified  the  world  in  joining  their  names.  This 
had  very  little  effect.  She  was  conscious  that  because  of  his 
wealth,  Vincent  was  courted  and  flattered  by  the  most  select  and 
fashionable  of  her  circle  of  acquaintances,  and  knew,  alas  1  that 
he  was  not  more  astray  than  the  majority  of  the  class  of  young 
men  to  which  he  belonged.  With  a  keen  pang,  she  saw  that 
her  child  shrank  from  her,  evaded  her  kind  questions,  and  seemed 
to  plunge  into  the  festivities  of  the  season  with  unwonted  zest. 
From  their  birth,  she  had  trained  her  daughters  to  confide  unre- 
servedly in  her,  and  now  to  perceive  the  youngest  avoiding  her 
caresses,  or  hurrying  away  from  her  anxious  glance,  was  bitter 
indeed.  How  her  pure-hearted  darling  could  tolerate  the  reck  ' 
less,  frivolous  being  in  whose  society  she  seemed  so  well  sa  tisfied, 
Tfaa  a  painful  mystery;  but  the  startling  reality  looked  her  in 
fee  face,  and  she  resolved,  at  every  hazard,  to  Rave  her  from  th« 


328  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

misery  which  was  in  store  for  Fred  Vincent's  wife.  Beuiaht 
quick  eye  readily  discerned  the  state  of  affairs  relative  to 
Georgia  and  Vincent,  and  she  could  with  difficulty  restrain  an 
expression  of  the  disgust  a  knowledge  of  his  character  inspired 
He  was  a  brother  of  the  Miss  Vincent  she  had  once  seen  at  Dr. 
IFartwell's,  and  probably  this  circumstance  increased  her  dislike 
Vincent  barely  recognized  her  when  they  chanced  to  meet,  and 
of  all  his  antipathies,  hatred  of  Beulah  predominated.  He  wag 
perfectly  aware  that  she  despised  his  weaknesses  and  detested 
his  immoralities  ;  and  while  he  shrank  from  the  steadfast  grey 
.  eyes,  calm  but  contemptuous,  he  hated  her  heartily. 

Cornelia  Graham  seemed  for  a  time  to  have  rallied  all  her 
strength,  and  attended  parties  and  kept  her  place  at  the  opera, 
with  a  regularity  which  argued  a  complete  recovery.  Antoinette 
Dupres  was  admired  and  flattered  ;  the  season  was  unusually 
gay.  What  if  Death  had  so  lately  held  his  awful  assize  in  the 
city  ?  Bereaved  families  wrapped  their  sable  garments  about 
lonely  hearts,  and  wept  over  the  countless  mounds  iu  the  ceme 
tery  ;  but  the  wine-cup  and  song  and  dance  went  their  accus- 
tomed rounds  in  fashionable  quarters,  and  drink,  dress  and  be 
merry  appeared  the  all-absorbing  thought.  Into  this  gaiety 
Eugene  Graham  eagerly  plunged  ;  night  after  night  was  spent 
in  one  continued  whirl ;  day  by  day  he  wandered  further  astray, 
and  ere  long  his  visits  to  Beulah  ceased  entirely.  Antoinette 
thoroughly  understood  the  game  she  had  to  play,  and  easily  and 
rapidly  he  fell  into  the  snare.  To  win  her  seemed  his  only  wish, 
and  not  even  Cornelia's  keenly  searching  eyes  could  check  hia 
admiration  and  devotion.  January  had  gone  ;  February  drew 
near  its  close  ;  Beuiah  had  not  seen  Eugene  for  many  days,  and 
felt  more  than  usually  anxious  concerning  him,  for  little  inter' 
course  now  existed  between  Cornelia  and  herself.  One  evening, 
however,  as  she  stood  before  a  glass  and  arranged  her  hair  with 
more  than  ordinary  care,  she  felt  that  she  would  soon  have  an 
opportunity  of  judging  whether  reports  were  true.  If  he  indeed 
fashed  along  the  highway  to  ruin,  one  glance  would  discover  t« 


%  BEULAH.  329 

fter  tlie  fact.  Dr.  Anbury  wished  to  give  Pauline  Chilt;n  a 
party,  and  his  own  and  Mrs.  Asbury's  kind  persuasions  induced 
the  orphan  to  consent  to  attend.  The  evening  had  arrived; 
she  put  on  her  simple  Swiss  muslin  dress,  without  a  wish  for  any 
thing  more  costly,  and  entered  the  carriage  her  friends  had  sent 
to  convey  her  to  the  house.  The  guests  rapidly  assembled} 
soon  the  rooms  were  thronged  with  merry  people,  whose  moving 
tc  and  fro  prevented  regular  conversation.  The  brilliant  chan- 
deliers flashed  down  on  rich  silks  and  satins,  gossamer  fabrics, 
and  diamonds  which  blazed  dazzlingly.  Pauline  was  superbly 
beautiful.  Excitement  lighted  her  eyes,  and  flushed  her  cheeks, 
until  all  paused  to  gaze  at  her  transcendent  loveliness.  It  was 
generally  known  that  ere  many  days  her  marriage  would  take 
place,  aud  people  looked  at  her  in  her  marvellous,  queenly  beauty, 
and  wondered  what  infatuation  induced  her  to  give  her  hand  to 
a  minister,  when  she,  of  all  others  present,  seemed  made  to 
move,  in  the  gay  scene  where  she  reigned  supreme.  From  a 
quiet  seat  near  the  window  Beulah  watched  her  airy,  graceful 
form  glide  through  the  quadrille,  aud  feared  that  in>  future  years 
she  would  sigh  for  the  gaieties  which  in  her  destined  lot  would 
oe  withheld  from  her.  She  tried  to  fancy  the  dazzling  beauty 
metamorphosed  into  the  staid  clergyman's  wife,  divested  of  satin 
and  diamonds,  and  visiting  the  squalid  aud  suffering  portion  of 
her  husband's  flock.  But  the  contrast  was  too  glaring,  and  she 
turned  her  head  to  watch  for  Eugene's  appearance.  Before  long 
she  saw  him  cross  the  room  with  Antoinette  on  his  arm.  The 
quadrille  had  ended,  and,  as  at  the  request  of  one  of  the  guests, 
the  band  played  a  brilliant  mazurka,  numerous  couples  took 
their  places  on  the  floor.  Beulah  had  never  seen  the  mazurka 
iauced  in  public  ;  she  knew  that  neither  Helen  nor  Georgia 
2ver  danced  the  so-called  "  fancy  dances,"  and  was  not  a  little 
surprised  when  the  gentlemen  encircled  the  waists  of  their 
partners  and  whirled  away.  Her  eyes  followed  Eugene's  tall 
'icrm,  as  the  circuit  of  the  parlors  was  rapidly  made,  and  hi 
approached  the  corner  where  she  sat.  He  held  his  lovely  part 


330  B  E  U  L  A  H 

ner  close  to  his  heart,  and  her  head  drooped  very  contentedly  on 
bis  shoulder  He  was  talking  to  her  as  they  danced,  and  hii 
lips  nearly  touched  her  glowing  cheek.  On  they  came,  so  close 
to  Beulah  that  Antoinette's  gauzy  dress  floated  against  her,  and 
as  the  music  quickened,  faster  flew  the  dancers.  Beulah  looked 
K  with  a  sensation  of  disgust,  which  might  have  been  easily  read 
iu  her  countenance  ;  verily  she  blushed  for  her  degraded  sex, 
atd,  sick  of  the  scene,  left  the  window  and  retreated  to  the  library, 
where  the  more  sedate  portion  of  the  guests  were  discussing 
ijrarious  topics.  Here  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grayson  ;  Claudia  waa 
North,  at  school.  Beulah  found  a  seat  near  Mrs.  Asbury,  and 
endeavored  to  banish  the  painful  recollections  which  Mrs.  Gray- 
son's  face  recalled.  They  had  not  met  since  the  memorable  day 
whe_:  the  orphan  first  found  a  guardian,  and  she  felt  that  there 
was  still  an  unconquerable  aversion  in  her  heart,  which  caused  it 
to  throb  heavily.  She  thought  the  time  tediously  long,  and 
when  at  last  the  signal  for  supper  was  given,  felt  relieved.  Aa 
usual,  there  was  rushing  and  squeezing  into  the  supper-room,  and 
waiting  until  the  hall  was  comparatively  deserted,  she  ran  up  to 
the  dressing-room  for  her  shawl,  tired  of  the  crowd  and  anxious 
to  get  home  again.  She  remembered  that  she  had  dropped  her 
fan  behind  one  of  the  sofas  in  the  parlor,  and  as  all  were  at  sup- 
per, fancied  she  could  obtain  it  unobserved,  and  entered  the  room 
for  that  purpose.  A  gentleman  stood  by  the  fire,  but  without 
noticing  him,  she  pushed  the  sofa  aside,  secured  her  fan,  and 
was  turning  away,  when  a  well  known  voice  startled  her. 

"  Beulah,  where  are  you  going  ?" 

"Home,  sir." 

"  What  1  so  soon  tired  ?" 

"  Yes,  heartily  tired,"  said  she,  wrapping  her  shawl  about  he/ 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  Eugene  to-night  ?" 

"  No  » 

Her  guardian  looked  at  her  very  intently,  as  if  striving  to  read 
fcer  soul,  and  said  slowly: 

"  Child,  he  and  Antoinette  are  sitting  in  the  front  parlor.    I 


BEULAH.  831 

happened  to  overhear  a  remark  as  I  passed  them.  He  is  as 
accepted  lover;  they  are  engaged." 

A  quick  shiver  ran  over  Beulah's  frame,  and  a  dark  frowa 
farrowed  her  pale  brow,  as  ske  answered: 

'*  J  feared  as  much." 

"  Why  should  you  fear,  child?  She  is  a.beautiful  heiress,  and 
ce  loves  her,"  returned  Dr.  Hartwell,  without  taking  his  eyei 
from  her  face. 

"No;  he  thinks  he  loves  her,  but  it  is  not  so.  He  is  fasci- 
nated by  her  beauty,  but  I  fear  the  day  will  come  when,  disco- 
vering her  true  character,  he  will  mourn  his  infatuation.  I 
know  his  nature,  and  I  know,  too,  that  she  cannot  make  him 
happy."  She  turned  away,  but  he  walked  on  with  her  to  the 
carriage,  handed  her  in,  and  said  "good  night"  as  coldly  as 
usual.  Meantime,  the  rattle  of  plates,  jingle  of  forks  and 
spoons,  in  the  supper-room,  would  have  rendered  all  conversa- 
tion impossible,  had  not  the  elevation  of  voices  kept  pace  with 
the  noise  and  confusion.  At  one  end  of  the  table,  Cornelia 
Graham  stood  talking  to  a  distinguished  foreigner,  who  was 
spending  a  few  days  in  the  city.  He  was  a  handsome  man,  with 
fine  colloquial  powers,  and  seemed  much  interested  in  a  discus- 
sion which  he  and  Cornelia  carried  on,  relative  to  the  society  oi 
American  cities  as  compared  with  European.  A  temporary  lull 
in  the  hum  of  voices  allowed  Cornelia  to  hear  a  remark  made 
by  a  gentleman  quite  near  her. 

"  Miss  Laura,  who  did  you  say  that  young  lady  was  that  Mrs. 
Asbury  introduced  me  to  ?  The  one  with  such  magnificent  hair 
aud  teeth  ?" 

His  companion  was  no  other  than  Laura  Martin,  whose 
mother,  having  built  an  elegant  house,  and  given  several  large 
parties,  was  now  a  "  fashionable,"  par  excellence.  Laura  elevated 
her  nose  very  perceptibly,  and  answered  : 

"  Oh,  a  mere  nobody  1  Beulah  Benton.  I  can't  imagine  how 
§he  contrived  to  be  invited  here.  She  is  a  teacher  in  the  public 
1  believe,  but  that  is  not  *he  worst  She  used  to  hire 


332  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

berseif  ont  as  u  servant.  Indeed,  it  is  a  fact,  she  was  my  littlt 
brother's  nurse  some  years  ago.  I  thiuk  'ma  hired  her  for  sis 
dollars  a  month,"  She  laughed  affectedly,  and  allowed  her 
escort  to  fill  her  plate  with  creams. 

Cornelia  grew  white  with  anger,  and  the  stranger  asked,  with 
n  smile,  if  he  should  consider  this  a  sample  of  the  society  shfi 
boasted  of.  Turning  abruptly  to  Laura,  she  replied,  with  uaais 
guised  contempt: 

"  The  Fates  forbid,  Mr.  Falconer,  that  you  should  juugo 
American  society  from  some  of  the  specimens  you  may  see  here 
to-night.  Misfortune  placed  Miss  Benton,  at  an  early  age,  in  an 
orphan  asylum,  and  while  quite  young,  she  left  it  to  earn  a 
gapport.  Mrs.  Martiu  (this  young  lady's  mother),  hired  her  as 
a  nurse;  but  she  soou  left  this  position,  qualified  herself  to  teach, 
and  now,  with  a  fine  intellect  thoroughly  cultivated,  is  the  pride 
of  all  who  can  appreciate  true  nobility  of  soul,  and,  of  course, 
T~"an  object  of  envy  and  detraction  to  her  inferiors,  especially  to 
some  of  our  fashionable  parvenus,  whose  self-interest  prompts 
them  to  make  money  alone  the  standard  of  worth,  and  who  are 
in  the  habit  of  determining  the  gentility  of  different  persons  by 
L  what  they  have,  not  what  they  are."  Her  scornful  glance  rested 
witheringly  on  Laura's  face,  and,  mortified  and  enraged,  the  lat 
ter  took  her  companion's  arm,  and  moved  away. 

"  I  have  some  desire  to  become  acquainted  with  one  who 
could  deserve  such  eulogy  from  you,"  answered  the  foreigner, 
somewhat,  amused  at  the  course  the  conversation  had  taker.,  and 
quite  satisfied  that  Americans  were  accustomed  to  correct  false 
impressions  in  rather  an  abrupt  manner. 

"  T  will  present  you  to  her  with  great  pleasure.  She  is  not 
here;  we  must  search  for  her."  She  took  his  arm,  and  they 
looked  for  Beulah  from  room  to  room;  finally,  Dr.  HartwciJ 
informed  Cornelia  that  she  had  gone  home,  and  tired,  an-1  out 
of  humor,  the  latter  excused  herself,  and  prepared  to  follow  her 
friend's  example.  Her  father  was  deep  in  a  game  of  whist,  her 
Bother  unwilling  to  return  home  so  soon,  and  Eugene  and 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  333 

Antoinette — where  were  they  ?    Dr.  Hartwell  saw  her  perplexed 
expression,  and  asked: 

"  Wl'om  are  you  looking  for  ?" 

"  Eugene." 

"  He  is  with  your  cousin  on  the  west  gallery.  I  will  conduct 
)oa  to  them,  if  you  wish  it."  He  offered  his  arm,  and  noticed 
the  scowl  that  instantly  darkened  her  face.  Unconsciously,  her 
fingers  grasped  his  arm  tightly,  and  she  walked  on  with  a  lower- 
ing brow.  As  they  approached  the  end  of  the  gallery,  Cornelia 
saw  that  the  two  she  sought  stood  earnestly  conversing. 
Eugene's  arm  passed  round  Antoinette's  waist.  Dr.  Hartwell 
watched  his  companion  closely ;  the  light  from  the  window 
gleamed  over  her  face,  and  showed  it  grey  and  rigid.  Her 
white  lips  curled  as  she  muttered : 

"  Let  us  take  another  turn  before  I  speak  to  them." 

"  Surely,  you  are  not  surprised  ?" 

"Oh,  nol  I  am  not  blind." 

"  It  was  an  unlucky  chance  that  threw  your  cousin  in  hia 
path,"  said  the  doctor,  composedly. 

"  Oh,  it  is  merely  another  link  in  the  chain  of  fatality  which 
binds  my  family  to  misfortune.  She  has  all  the  family  traits  of 
the  Labords,  and  you  know  what  they  are,"  cried  Cornelia. 

He  compressed  his  lips,  and  a  lightning  glance  shot  out  from 
his  eyes,  but  he  stilled  the  rising  tempest,  and  replied  coldly: 

"  Why,  then,  c.id  you  not  warn  him  ?"    • 

"  Warn  him  !  So  I  did.  But  I  might  as  well  grasp  at  the 
itars  yonder  as  hope  to  influence  him  in  this  infatuation." 

Once  more  they  approached  the  happy  pair,  and  leaning  for 
ward,  Cornelia  said,  hoarsely  : 

"  Eugene,  my  father  is  engaged  ;  come  home  with  me. f 

He  looked  up,  and  answered  carelessly  :  "  Oh,  you  are  leaving 
too  early  ;  can't  you  entertain  yourself  a  little  longer  ?'' 

"  No,  sir." 

Her  freezing  tone  startled  him,  and  for  the  first  time  he  noticed 
the  haggard  face,  with  its  expression  cf  angry  scoru.  Her  eje« 


334  B  E  U  I,  A  H  . 

were  fixed  on  Antoinette,  who  only  smiled,  and  looked  triumph- 
antly defiant. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Cornelia  ?  Of  course,  I  will  take  you  home  if 
you  really  desire  it.  Doctor,  I  must  consign  Miss  Dupres  to  your 
care  till  I  return." 

Eugene  by  no  means  relished  the  expression  of  his  sister'a 
countenance.  She  bade  Dr.  Hartwell  adieu,  passed  her  ara 
through  her  brother's,  and  they  proceeded  to  their  carriage. 
The  ride  was  short  and  silent.  On  reaching  home,  Eugene  con- 
ducted Cornelia  into  the  house,  and  was  about  to  return,  when 
she  said,  imperiously  : 

"A  word  with  you  before  you  go." 

She  entered  the  sitting-room,  threw  her  wrappings  on  a  -hair 
and  began  to  divest  herself  of  bracelets  and  necklace.  Eugene 
lighted  a  cigar,  and  stood  waiting  to  hear  what  she  might  choose 
to  communicate.  Fastening  her  brilliant  black  eyes  on  his  face, 
Bhe  said,  sneeringly  : 

"  Eugene  Graham,  did  you  learn  dissimulation  in  the  halls  of 
Heidelberg  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Cornelia  ?" 

"  Where  did  you  learn  to  deceive  one  who  believed  you  pure 
and  truthful  as  au  archangel  ?  Answer  me  that."  Her  whole  face 
was  a  glare  of  burning  scorn. 

"  Insulting  insinuations  are  unworthy  of  you,  and  beneath  my 
fiotice,"  he  proudly  replied. 

"  Well,  then,  take  the  more  insulting  truth  1  What  crawling 
serpent  of  temptation  induced  you  to  tell  me  you  expected  to 
marry  Beulah  ?  No  evasion  !  I  will  not  be  put  off  1  Why 
did  you  deceive  me  with  a  falsehood  I  was  too  stupidly  trust- 
ing to  discover  until  recently  ?" 

"  When  I  told  you  so,  I  expected  to  marry  Beulah  ;  not  «j 
much  becaase  I  loved  her,  but  because  I  supposed  that  sherathei 
considered  me  bound  to  her  by  early  ties.  I  discovered,  however, 
that  her  happiness  was  not  dependent  OD  me,  and  therefore  abao 
doned  the  idea." 


BBULAH.  332 

"  And  my  peerless  cousin  is  to  be  your  bride,  eh  T 
"  Yes,  she  has  promised  me  her  hand  at  an  early  day." 
"No 'doubt.  You  don't  deserve  anything  better.  Beulah 
tcorns  you*;  I  see  it  in  her  eyes.  Marry  you  !  You  !  Oh. 
Eugene,  she  is  too  far  superior  to  you.  You  are  blind  now  ;  bnt 
the  day  will  surely  come  when  your  charmer  will,  with  her  own 
hand,  tear  the  veil  from  your  eyes,  and  you  will  curse  your  folly. 
It  is  of  no  nse  to  tell  you  that  she  is  false,  heartless,  utterly  un- 
principled ;  you  will  not  believe  it,  of  course,  till  you  find  out  her 
.miserable  defects  yourself.  I  might  thunder  warnings  in  your 
ears  from  now  till  doomsday,  and  you  would  not  heed  me.  But 
whether  I  live  to  see  it  or  not,  yon  will  bitterly  rue  your  infatu- 
ation. You  will  blush  for  the  name  which,  as  your  wife,  Antoi- 
nette will  disgrace.  Now  leave  me." 

She  pointed  to  the  door,  and  too  much  incensed  to  reply,  he 
quitted  the  room  with  a  suppressed  oath,  slamming  the  door 
behind  him.  Cornelia  went  up  to  her  own  apartment,  and,  with- 
out ringing  for  her  maid,  took  off  the  elegant  dress  she  wore, 
and  threw  her  dressing-gown  round  her.  The  diamond  hair-pins 
glowed  like  coals  of  fire  in  her  black  braids,  mocking  the  grey, 
bloodless  face,  and  look  of  wretchedness.  She  took  out  tho 
jewels,  laid  them  on  her  lap,  and  suffered  the  locks  of  hair  to  fall 
upon  her  shoulders.  Then  great  hot  tears  rolled  over  her  face;"^ 
heavy  sobs  convulsed  her  frame,  and  bowing  down  her  head,  the 
haughty  heiress  wept  passionately.  Eugene  was  the  only  being  . 
she  really  loved  ;  for  years  her  hopes  and  pride  had  centred  in 
nim.  Now,  down  the  long  vista  of  coming  time,  she  looked  and 
saw  him  staggering  on  to  ruin  and  disgrace.  She  knew  her  own 
Life  would  at  best  be  short,  and  felt  that  now  it  had  lost  its  only 
Interest,  and  she  was  ready  to  sink  to  her  last  rest,  rather  than 
witness  his  future  career.  This  was  the  first  time  she  had  wept  j 
since  the  days  of  early  childhood ;  but  she  calmed  the  fearful  ! 
itruggle  in  her  heart,  and,  toward  dawn,  Ml  asleep,  with  a  re- 
pulsive sneer  on  her  lips.  The  ensuing  day  she  was  forced  to 
listen  to  the  complacent  comments  of  her  parents,  who  were  vel 


336  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

pleased  with  tne  alliance.  Antoinette  was  to  return  home  im- 
mediately, the  marriage  would  take  place  in  June,  and  the} 
were  all  to  spend  the  summer  at  the  North  ;  after  which  it  was 
suggested  that  the  young  couple  should  reside  with  Mr.  Graham. 
Cornelia  was  standing  apart,  when  her  mother  made  tins  piopo- 
lition.  and  turning  sharply  toward  the  members  of  her  family, 
the  daughter  exclaimed  : 

"  Never  1  You  all  know  that  this  match  is  utterly  odious  to 
ine.  Let  Eugene  have  a  house  of  his  own  ;  I  have  no  mind  to  have 
Antoinette  longer  in  my  home.  -Nay,  father  ;  it  will  not  be  for 
&  great  while.  When  I  ani  gone  they  can  come  ;  I  rather  think 
I  shall  not  long  be  in  their  way.  While  I  do  live,  let  me  be 
quiet,  will  you  ?" 

Her  burning,  yet  sunken  eyes  ran  over  the  group. 

Eugene  sprang  up,  and  left  the  room  ;  Antoinette  put  her 
embroidered  handkerchief  to  dry  eyes  ;  Mrs.  Graham  looked  dis- 
tressed ;  and  her  husband  wiped  his  spectacles.  But  the  mist 
was  in  his  eyes,  and  presently  large  drops  fell  over  his  cheeks  as 
he  looked  at  the  face  and  form  of  his  only  child. 

Cornelia  sflw  his  emotion  ;  the  great  flood-gate  of  her  heart 
Beemed  suddenly  lifted.  She  passed  her  white  fingers  over  his 
grey  hair,  and  murmured  brokenly  : 

"  My  father — my  father  1    I  have  been  a  care  and  a  sorrow  to 

you  all  my  life  ;  I  am  very  wayward  and  exacting,  but  bear  with 

\  your  poor  child  ;  my  days  are  numbered.      Father,  when  my 

proud  head  lies  low  m  the  silent  grave,  then  give  others  mj 

place." 

He  took  her  in  his  arras,  and  kissed  her  hollow  cheek,  saying 
tenderly  : 

"  My  darling,  you  break  my  heart.  Have  you  ever  been  de- 
aicd  a  wish  ?  What  is  there  that  I  can  do  to  make  you  happy  ?* 

"  Give  Eugene  a  house  of  his  own,  and  let  me  be  at  peace  is 
my  home.  Will  you  do  this  for  me  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Thank  you,  my  father." 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  83? 

Disengaging  bio  clasping  arm,  she  left  them. 

A  few  days  after  the  party  at  her  house,  Mrs.  Asbury  returned 
home  from  a  visit  to  the  Asylum  (of  which  she  had  recently  been 
elected  a  manager).  In  passing  the  parlor  door,  she  heard  sup- 
pressed voices,  looked  in,  and  perceiving  Mr.  Vincent  seated  near 
Georgia,  retirsd,  without  speaking,  to  her  own  room.  Securing 
the  door,  she  sank  on  her  knees,  and  besought  an  all-wise  God 
to  direct  and  aid  her  in  her  course  of  duty.  The  time  had 
arrived  when  she  must  hazard  everything  to  save  her  child  from 
an  ill  -fated  marriage  ;  and  though  the  mother's  heart  bled,  she 
was  firm  in  her  resolve.  When  Mr.  Vincent  took  leave,  and 
Georgia  had  returned  to  her  room,  Mrs.  Asbury  sought  ner 
She  found  her  moody,  and  disposed  to  evade  her  questions 
Passing  her  arm  round  her,  she  said,  very  gently  : 

"  My  dear  child,  let  there  be  perfect  confidence  between  aa. 
Am  I  not  more  interested  in  your  happiness  than  any  one  else? 
My  child,  what  has  estranged  you  of  late  ?" 

Georgia  made  no  reply. 

"  What,  but  my  love  for  you,  and  anxiety  for  your  happiness, 
could  induce  me  to  object  to  your  receiving  Mr.  Vincent's  atten- 
tions ?" 

"  You  are  prejudiced  against  him,  and  always  were  !" 

"  I  judge  the  young  man  only  from  his  conduct.  You  know — 
you  are  obliged  to  know,  that  he  is  recklessly  dissipated,  selfish 
and  immoral." 

"  He  is  no  worse  than  other  young  men.  I  know  very  few 
who  are  not  quite  as  wild  as  he  is.  Beside,  he  has  promised  to 
sign  the  temperance  pledge,  if  I  will  marry  him." 

"  My  child,  you  pain  me  beyond  expression.  Does  the  d"pra 
pity  which  prevails  here  sanction  Vincent's  dissipation  ?  Oh 
Georgia,  has  association  deprived  you  of  horror  of  vice  ?  Can 
you  be  satisfied  because  others  are  quite  as  degraded  ?  H»  does 
not  mean  what  he  promises,  it  is  merely  to  deceive  you.  His 
intemperate  habits  are  too  confirmed  to  be  remedied  no*  j  he 
began  iwly  at  college,  and  has  constantly  grown  worse. 
15 


838  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

*'  You  are  prejudiced/'  persisted  Georgia,  unable  t3  restrain 
her  tears. 

"  If  I  am,  it  is  because  of  his  profligacy  1  Can  you  possibly 
be  attached  to  such  a  man  ?" 

Georgia  sobbed,  and  cried  heartily.  Her  good  sense  told  he* 
that  her  mother  was  right,  but  it  was  difficult  to  relinquish  the 
hope  of  reforming  him.  As  gently  as  possible,  Mrs.  Asbury 
dwelt  upon  his  utter  worthlessness,  and  the  misery  and  wretched- 
ness which  would  surely  ensue  from  such  a  nnion.  With  stream- 
Ing  eyes,  she  implored  her  to  banish  the  thought,  assuring  her 
she  would  sooner  see  her  in  her  grave,  than  the  wife  of  a  drunk- 
ard. And  now  the  care  of  years  was  to  be  rewarded  ;  her  firm, 
but  gentle  reasoning  prevailed.  Georgia  had  always  reverenced 
her  mother  ;  she  knew  she  was  invariably  guided  by  principle; 
and  now,  as  she  listened  to  her  earnest  entreaties,  all  her  obsti- 
nacy melted  away  ;  throwing  herself  into  her  mother's  arms,  she 
bogged  her  to  forgive  the  pain  and  anxiety  she  had  caused  her. 
Mrs.  Asbury  pressed  her  to  her  heart,  and  silently  thanked  God 
for  the  success  of  her  remonstrances.  Of  all  this,  Dr.  Asbury 
knew  nothing.  When  Mr.  Vincent  called,  the  following  day, 
Georgia  very  decidedly  rejected  him.  Understanding  from  her 
manner,  that  she  meant  what  she  said,  he  became  violently 
enraged  ;  swore,  with  a  solemn  oath,  that  he  would  make  hei 
repent  her  trifling,  took  his  hat,  and  left  the  house.  This  su* 
ficed  to  remove  any  lingering  tenderness  from  Georgia's  heart, 
and  from  that  hour,  Fred  Vincent  darkened  the  honu  circle  u« 

man 


BBULAH. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

PAULINE'S  wedding-day  dawned  clear  and  bright,  meet  fo»  th* 
?appy  event  it  was  to  chronicle.  The  ceremony  was  to  be  per- 
formed in  church,  at  an  early  hour,  to  enable  the  newly  mairiec 
pair  to  leave  on  the  morning  boat,  and  the  building  was  crowded 
with  the  numerous  friends  assembled  to  witness  the  rites.  The 
minister  stood  within  the  altar,  and  after  some  slight  delay,  Mr. 
Mortimor  led  Pau^ie  down  the  aisle.  Dr.  Hartwell  and  Mrs 
Lockhart  stood  near  the  altar.  Mr.  Lockhart's  indisposition 
prevented  his  attendance.  Satin,  blond  and  diamonds  were  dis- 
carded ;  Pauline  was  dressed  in  a  grey  travelling  habit,  and  wore 
a  plain  drab  travelling  bonnet. 

It  was  a  holy,  a  touching  bridal.  The  morning  sunshine, 
stealing  through  the  lofty,  arched  windows,  fell  on  her  pure  brow 
with  dazzling  radiance,  and  lent  many  a  golden  wave  to  th«- 
silky,  clustering  curls.  Pauline  was  marvellously  beautiful ;  tot 
violet  eyes  were  dewy  with  emotion,  and  her  ripe,  coral  lips 
wreathed  with  a  smile  of  trembling  joyousness.  Perchance  a 
cursory  observer  might  have  fancied  Mr.  Mortimer's  countenance 
too  grave  and  thoughtful  for  such  an  occasion  ;  but  though  the 
mouth  was  at  rest,  and  the  dark,  earnest  eyes  sparkled  not,  there 
was  a  light  of  grateful,  chastened  gladness  shed  over  the  quiet  \ 
features.  Only  a  few  words  were  uttered  by  the  clergyman,  and 
Pauline,  the  wild,  wayward,  careless,  high-spirited  girl,  stood 
there  a  wife.  She  grew  deadly  pale,  and  looked  up  with  a  feeO 
ing  of  awe  to  him  who  was  now,  for  all  time,  the  master  of  her 
destiny  The  vows  yet  upon  her  lips  bound  her  irrevocably  to  his 
side,  and  imposed  on  her,  as  a  solemn  duty,  the  necessity  of  bear- 
ing all  trials  for  herself  ;  of  smoothing  away  home  cares  from  hi/  , 


840  BEELAH. 

path  ;  and,  when  her  own  heart  was  troubled,  of  putting  bj  the 
sorrow  and  bitterness,  and  ever  welcoming  his  coming  with  a 
word  of  kindness,  or  a  smile  of  joy.  A  wife  1  She  must  be  brave 
enough  to  wrestle  with  difficulties  for  herself,  instead  of  wearying 
.  Mm  with  all  the  tedious  details  of  'domestic  trials,  and  yet  turn 
to  him  for  counsel  and  sympathy  in  matters  of  serious  import. 
N '  longer  a  mere  self-willed  girl,  consulting  only  her  own  wishes 
and  tastes,  she  had  given  another  the  right  to  guide  and  control 
her  ;  and  now  realizing,  for  the  first  time,  the  importance  of  tho 

I  step  she  had  taken,  she  trembled  in  anticipation  of  the  trouble 
her  wayward,  obstinate  will  would  cause  her.  But  with  her 
wonted,  buoyant  spirit,  she  turned  from  all  unpleasant  reflections, 
%nd  received  the  congratulations  of  her  friends  with  subdued 
gaiety.  Beulah  stood  at  some  distance,  watching  the  April  face, 
checkered  with  smiles  and  tears  ;  and  looking  with  prophetic 
1  dread  into  the  future,  she  saw  how  little  genuine  happiness  could 
:  result  from  a  union  of  natures  so  entirely  uncongenial.  To  her, 
the  nuptial  rites  were  more  awfully  solemn  than  those  of  death; 
for  how  infinitely  preferable  was  a  quiet  resting-place  in  tho 
jhadow  of  mourning  cedars,  to  the  life-long  agony  of  an  unhappy 
anion.  She  looked  up  at  her  quondam  guardian,  as  he  stood, 
grave  and  silent,  regarding  his  niece  with  sadly  anxious  eyes; 
&nd  as  she  noted  the  stern  inflexibility  of  his  sculptured  mouth, 
.she  thought  that  he  stood  there  a  marble  monument,  recording 
Ihe  misery  of  an  ill-assorted  marriage.  But  it  was  school  time, 
and  she  approached  to  say  "  good  bye,"  as  the  bridal  pair  took 
their  seats  in  the  carriage.  Pauline  seemed  much  troubled  at 
bidding  her  adieu  ;  she  wept  silently  a  minute,  then  throwing 
her  arms  around  Beulah's  neck,  whispered  pleadingly  : 

'•  Won't  you  go  back  to  Uncle  Guy  ?  Won't  you  let  him 
adopt  you  ?  Do,  please.  See  how  grim  and  pale  he  looks 
Won't  yon  ?" 

"  No.  He  has  ceased  to  care  aoout  my  welfare  ;  ho  is  noi 
distressed  about  me,  I  assure  you.  Good  bye.  Write  to  mi 
aften," 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  841 

*  Yes,  I  will ;  and  in  vacation,  Ernest  says  you  arc  to  come  uj; 
and  spend  at  least  a  mouth  with  us.  Do  you  hear  ?" 

The  carriage  was  whirled  away,  and  Beulah  walked  on  to  hci 
school  room,  with  a  dim  foreboding  that  when  she  again  mat  the 
beautiful,  warmhearted  girl,  sunshine  might  be  banished  frors 
her  face.  Days,  weeks  and  months  passed  by  How  systematic! 
industry  speeds  the  wheels  of  time.  Beulah  had  little  leisure, 
and  tlu's  was  employed  with  the  most  rigid  economy,  School 
duties  occupied  her  until  late 'in  the  day  ;  then  she  gave,  every 
afternoon,  a  couple  of  music  lessons,  and  it  was  not  until  night 
that  she  felt  herself  free.  The  editor  of  the  magazine  found  that 
her  articles  were  worth  remuneration,  and  consequently  a  monthly 
contribution  had  to  be  copied,  and  sent  in  at  stated  intervals. 
Thus  engaged,  spring  glided  into  summer,  and  once  more  a  June 
sun  beamed  on  the  city.  One  Saturday  she  accompanied  Clara 
to  a  jewelry  store  to  make  some  trifling  purchase,  and  saw 
Eugene  Graham  leaning  over  the  counter,  looking  at  some  sets  of 
pearl  and  diamonds.  He  did  not  perceive  her  immediately,  and 
Bhe  had  an  opportunity  of  scanning  his  countenance  unobserved, 
Her  lip  trembled  as  she  noticed  the  flushed  face  and  inflamed 
eyes,  and  saw  that  the  hand  which  held  a  bracelet,  was  very 
unsteady.  He  looked  up,  started  and  greeted  her  with  evident 
embarrassment.  She  waited  until  Clara  had  completed  hei 
purchase,  and  then  said,  quietly  : 

"  Eugene,  are  you  going  away  without  coming  to  see  me  ?" 

"  Why,  no  ;  I  had  intended  calling  yesterday,  but  was  pie- 
vented,  and  I  am  obliged  to  leave  this  afternoon.  By  the  way, 
help  me  to  select  between  these  two  pearl  sets..  I  suppose  you 
can  imagine  their  destination  ?" 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  alluded  to  his  marriage,  and  sin 
answered  with  an  arch  smile  : 

"  Oh,  yes.  1  I  dare  say  I  might  guess  very  accurately.  It 
Would  not  require  Yankee  ingenuity." 

She  examined  the  jewels,  and  after  giving  an  opinion  M  W 
Iheir  superiority,  turned  to  go,  saying  : 


542  B  E  C  L  A  H  . 

"  I  want  to  see  you  a  few  moments  before  you  leave  the  citj 
I  am  going  home  immediately,  and  any  time  during  the  day 
when  you  can  call,  will  answer.7' 

He  looked  curious,  glanced  at  his  watch,  pondered  an  instant, 
and  promised  to  call  in  an  hour. 

She  bowed  and  returned  home,  with  an  almost  intolerable 

freight  on  her  heart.     She  sat  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands, 

\)llecting  her  thoughts,  and  when  summoned  to  meet  Eugene, 

/ent  down  with  a  firm  heart,  but  trembling  frame.     It  was 

more  than  probable  that  she  would  be  misconstrued  and  wounded, 

|  but  she  determined  to  hazard  all,  knowing  how  pure  were  the 

.  motives  that  actuated  her.     He  seemed  restless  and  ill  at  ease, 

pet  curious  withal,  and  after  some  trifling  commonplace  remarks, 

Benlah  seated  herself  on  the  sofa,  beside  him,  and  said  : 

"  Eugene,  why  have  you  shunned  me  so  pertinaciously  since 
four  return  from  Europe  ?" 

"  I  have  not  shunned  you,  Beulah;  you  are  mistaken.  I  hav* 
fceen  engaged,  and  therefore  could  visit  but  little." 

"  Do  not  imagine  that  any  such  excuses  blind  me  to  the  truth," 
Baid  she,  with  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  answered,  unable  to  bear  the  earn- 
est;, troubled  look  of  the  searching  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Eugene  !  be  honest — be  honest !  Say  at  once  you 
shunned  me  lest  I  should  mark  your  altered  habits  in  your  altered 
lace.  But  I  know  it  all,  notwithstanding.  It  is  no  secret  that 
Eugene  Graham  has  more  than  once  lent  his  presence  to  mid- 
night carousals  over  the  wine-cup  Once  you  were  an  example 
of  temperance  and  rectitude,  but  vice  is  fashionable,  and  patron- 
ized in  this  city,  and  your  associates  soon  dragged  you  down 
from  your  proud  height  to  their  degraded  level.  The  circle  in 
which  you  move  were  not  shocked  at  your  fall.  Ladies  accus- 
tomed to  hear  of  drunken  revels  ceased  to  attach  disgrace  to 
them,  and  you  were  welcomed  and  smiled  upon,  as  though  yon 
were  all  a  man  should  be.  Oh  Eugene  1  I  understand  why  you 
have  carefully  shunned  one  woo  has  an  unconquerable  horror  of 


B  fi  U  L  A  H  .  343 

that  degradation  into  which  you  have  fallen.  I  am  your  friend 
your  best  and  most  disinterested  friend.  What  do  your  fashion 
abie  acquaintauces  care  that  your  moral  character  is  impugned, 
and  your  fair  name  taruished  ?  Your  dissipation  keeps  their 
brothers  and  lovers  in  countenanc^  ;  your  once  noble,  unsullied 
nature  would  shame  their  depravity.  Do  you  remember  on« 
bright,  moonlight  night,  about  six  years  ago,  when  we  sat  in 
Mrs.  Williams'  room,  at  the  Asylum,  and  talked  of  our  future  ? 
Then,  with  a  soul  full  of  pure  aspirations,  you  said  :  'Beulah,  1 
bave  written  'Excelsior'  on  my  banner,  and  I  intend,  like  that 
noble  youth,  to  press  forward  over  every  obstacle,  mounting  at 
every  step,  until  I  too  stand  on  the  highest  pinnacle,  and  plant 
my  banner  where  its  glorious  motto  shall  float  over  the  world  I1 
'  Excelsior  1'  Ah,  my  brother,  that  banner  trails  in  the  dust  J 
Alpine  heights  tower  far  behind  you,  dim  in  the  distance,  apd 
now  with  another  motto — '  Lower  still ' — you  are  rushing  down 
to  an  awful  gulf.  Oh,  Eugene  1  do  you  intend  to  go  on  to  utter 
ruin  ?  Do  you  intend  to  wreck  happiness,  health,  and  charac- 
ter in  the  sea  of  reckless  dissipation  ?  Do  you  intend  to  spend 
your  days  in  disgusting  intoxication  ?  I  would  you  had  a  mother, 
whose  prayers  might  save  you,  or  a  father,  whose  grey  hairs  you 
dared  not  dishonor,  or  a  sister  to  win  you  back  from  ruin, 
Oh,  that  you  and  I  had  never,  never  left  the  sheltering  walls  of 
the  Asylum  1" 

She  wept  bitterly,  and  more  moved  than  he  chose  to  appear, 
Eugene  shaded  his  face  with  his  fingers.  Beulah  placed  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  continued,  falteringly  : 

"  Eugene,  I  am  not  afraid  to  tell  you  the  unvarnished  truth. 
You  may  get  angry,  and  think  it  is  no  business  of  mine  to  conn« 
sel  you,  who  are  older  and  master  of  your  own  fate  ;  but  when 
ve  were  children  I  talked  to  you  freely,  and  why  should  I  not 
now  ?  True  friendship  strengthens  with  years,  and  shall  I  hesi 
tate  to  speak  to  you  of  what  gives  me  so  much  pain  ?  In  a  very 
few  days  yot  are  to  be  married;  Eugene,  if  the  wine-cup  ii 
iearer  to  you  than  your  beautiful  bride,  what  prospect  of  happi 


844  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

ness  have  cither  of  yen  ?  I  had  hoped  her  influence  would  detes 
yon  from  it,  at  least  during  her  visit  here;  but  if  not  then,  hovt 
oan  her  presence  avail  in  future  ?  Oh,  for  heaven's  sake  !  foi 
Antoinette's,  for  your  own,  quit  the  ranks  of  ruin  you  are  in, 
and  come  back  to  temperance  and  honor.  You  are  bowing 
down  Cornelia's  proud  head  in  humiliation  and  sorrow.  Oh, 
Eugene,  have  mercy  on  yourself  1" 

He  tried  to  look  haughty  and  insulted,  but  it  would  not 
answer.  Her  pale  face,  full  of  earnest,  tearful  entreaty,  touched 
his  heart,  not  altogether  indurated  by  profligate  associations. 
He  knew  she  had  not  given  an  exaggerated  account  ;  he  had 
imagined  that  she  would  not  hear  of  his  revels,  but  certainly  she 
told  only  the  truth.  Yet  he  resolved  not  to  admit  the  charge, 
and  shaking  off  her  hand,  answered  proudly: 

"  If  I  am  the  degraded  character  you  flatteringly  pronounce 
me,  it  should  certainly  render  my  society  anything  but  agreeable 
to  your  fastidious  taste.  I  shall  not  soon  forget  your  unmerited 
insults."  He  rose  as  he  spoke. 

"  You  are  angry  now,  Eugene,  because  I  have  held  up  youf 
own  portrait  for  your  inspection.  You  are  piqued  because  I  tell 
you  the  truth.  But  wlren  all  this  has  subsided,  and  you  think 
the  matter  calmly  over,  you  will  be  forced  to  acknowledge  that 
only  the  purest  friendship  could  prompt  me  to  remonstrate  with 
you  on  your  ruinous  career.  Of  course,  if  you  choose,  you  can 
soon  wreck  yourself ;  you  are  your  own  master,  but  the  infatua- 
tion will  recoil  upon  you.  Your  disgrace  and  ruin  will  not  afi'ect 
me,  save  that,  as  your  friend,  I  should  mourn  your  fall.  Ah, 
Eugene,  I  have  risked  your  displeasure — I  have  proved  my 
friendship  1" 

He  took  his  hat  and  turned  toward  the  door,  but  she  placed 
forrself  before  it,,  and  holding  out  both  hands,  exclaimed  sorrow 
fully : 

"  Do  not  let  us  part  in  anger  1  I  am  an  orphan  without  rela 
fives  or  protectors,  and  from  early  years  you  have  been  a  kind 
brother.  At  least,  let  us  part  as  friends  I  know  that  in  futur* 


BEtTLAH.  S4A 

ffc  sliai  oe  completely  alienated,  bnt  your  friend  Beulah  wife 
always  rejoice  to  hear  of  your  welfare  and  happiness  ;  and  if  hei 
warning  words,  kindly  meant,  have  no  effect,  and  she  hears,  with 
keen  regret,  of  your  final  ruin,  she  at  least  will  feel  that  she 
honestly  and  anxiously  did  all  in  her  power  to  save  you.  Good 
*;yj«,.  Shake  hands,  Eugene,  and  bear  with  you  to  the  altar  inj 
lincore  wishes  for  your  happiness." 

She  held  out  her  hands  entreatingly,  but  ho  took  no  notice  of 
the  movement,  and  hurrying  by,  left  the  house.  For  a  moment 
Beulah  bowed  her  head  and  sobbed  ;  then  she  brushed  the  teara 
from  her  cheek,  and  the  black  brows  met  in  a  heavy  frown. 
True,  she  had  not  expected  much  else,  yet  she  felt  bitterly 
grieved,  and  it  was  many  months  ere  she  ceased  to  remembei 
the  pain  of  this  interview  ;  notwithstanding  the  coutempt4  sh« 
could  not  avoid  feeling  for  his  weakness. 

The  Grahams  all  accompanied  Eugene,  and  after  the  marriage, 
went  North  for  the  summer.  A  handsome  house  was  erected 
near  Mr.  Graham's  residence,  and  in  the  fall  the  young  people 
were  to  take  possession  of  it.  Mr.  Lockhart  rallied  sufficiently 
to  be  removed  to  his  home  "  up  the  country,"  and,  save  Dr 
Asbury's  family,  Beulah  saw  no  one  but  Clara  and  her  pupils 
With  July  came  the  close  of  the  session,  and  the  young  teaches 
was  free  again.  One  afternoon,  she  put  on  her  bonnet  auf" 
walked  to  a  distant  section  of  the  town,  to  inquire  after  Kate 
Ellison  (one  of  her  assistant  teachers),  who,  she  happened  tc 
hear,  was  quite  ill.  She  found  her  even  worse  than  she  had 
expected,  and  on  offering  her  services  to  watch  over  the  sick 
girl,  was  anxiously  requested  to  remain  with  her  during  tho 
&ight.  She  dispotched  a  message  to  Mrs.  Hoyt,  cheerfully  laid 
a^.ids  her  bonnet,  and  took  a  seat  near  the  sufferer,  while  the 
Infirm  mother  retired  to  rest.  The  family  were  very  poor,  and 
almost  entirely  dependent  on  Kate's  salary  for  a  support.  The 
bouse  was  small  and  comfortless  ;  the  scanty  furniture,  of  the 
plainest  kind.  About  dusk,  Beulah  left  her  charge  in  a  sound 
lleep,  and  cautiously  opening  the  blinds,  seated  herself  on  th« 
15* 


846  B  K  V  L  A  H  . 

window  sill.  The  solitary  candle  on  tne  table  gave  but  a  dim 
light,  and  sjbe  sat  for  a  long  time  looking  out  into  the  street  and 
up  at  the  quiet,  clear  sky.  A  buggy  drew  up  beneath  the  win 
dow — she  supposed  it  was  the  family  physician.  Mrs.  Ellison  had 
not  mentioned  his  coming,  but  of  course  it  must  be  a  physician, 
ird  sure  enough  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  She  straight- 
jiied  one  or  two  chairs,  picked  up  some  articles  of  clothing 
scattered  about  the  floor,  and  opened  the  door. 

She  knew  not  what  doctor  Mrs.  Ellison  employed,  and  as  her 
guardian  entered,  she  drew  back  with  a  start  of  surprise.  She 
had  not  seen  him  since  the  morning  of  Pauline's  marriage,  five 
months  before,  and  then  he  had  not  noticed  her.  Now  he 
ttopped  suddenly,  looked  at  her  a  moment,  and  said,  as  if  much 
Chagrined  : 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Beulah  ?" 

"  Nursing  Kate,  sir.  Don't  talk  so  loud  ;  she  is  asleep," 
answered  Beulah,  rather  frigidly. 

She  did  not  look  at  him,  but  knew  his  eyes  were  on  her  face, 
Mid  presently  he  said  : 

"  You  are  always  where  you  ought  not  to  be.  That  girl  has 
typhus  fever,  and,  ten  to  one,  you  will  take  it.  In  the  name  of 
common  sense  !  why  don't  you  let  people  take  care  of  their  own 
.sick,  and  stay  at  home,  instead  of  hunting  up  cases  like  a  pro- 

Ife.ssed  nurse  ?  I  suppose  the  first  confirmed  case  of  small  pox 
you  hear  of,  you  will  hasten  to  offer  your  services.  You  don't 
intend  to  spend  the  night  here,  it  is  to  be  hoped  ?" 

"  Her  mother  has  been  sitting  up  so  constantly  that  she  is 
completely  exhausted,  and  somebody  must  assist  in  nursing  Kate. 
I  did  not  know  that  she  had  any  contagious  disease,  but  if  she 
has,  I  suppose  I  might  as  well  run  the  risk  as  anybody  else.  It 
£  but  common  humanity  to  aid  the  family." 

"Oh  I  if  you  choose  to  risk  yonr  life,  it  is  your  own  affair 
Do  not  imagine  for  an  instant  that  I  expected  my  advice  tr 
ireigh  an  iota  with  you." 

He  walked  off  to  Kate,  felt  her  pulse,  and  without  waking  her 


BKULAH.  347 

proceeded  to  replenish  the  glass  of  medicine  on  the  table, 
Beulah  was  in  110  mood  to  obtrude  herself  on  his  attention  ;  she 
«-ent  to  the  window,  and  stood  with  her  back  to  him.  She 
could  not  tamely  bear  his  taunting  manner,  yet  felt  that  it  was 
out  of  her  power  to  retort,  for  she  still  reverenced  him.  Sh* 
was  surprised  when  he  came  up  to  her  and  said  abruptly  : 

"  To-day  I  read  an  article  in  '  T 's  Magazine,'  called  Ih 

•  Inner  Life/  by  '  Delta.'  » 

A  deep  crimson  dyed  her  pale  face  an  instant,  and  her  lipi 
curled  ominously,  as  she  replied,  in  a  would-be  indifferent  tone : 

"  Well,  sir  ?" 

"  It  is  not  well,  at  all.     It  is  very  ill.     It  is  most  miserable  V 

"  Well !  what  do  I  care  for  the  article  in  '  T 's  Maga- 
zine ?' "  These  words  were  jerked  out,  as  it  were,  with  something 
like  a  sneer. 

"  You  care  more  than  you  will  ever  be  brought  to  confess. 
Have  you  read  this  precious  '  Inner  Life  ?' " 

''Oh,  yes!" 

"  Have  you  any  idea  who  the  author  is  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  know  the  author  ;  but  if  it  had  been  intended  or 
desired  that  the  public  should  know,  also,  the  article  would  never 
have  appeared  over  a  fictitious  signature." 

This  "  Inner  Life,"  which  she  had  written  for  the  last  number 
of  the  magazine,  was  an  allegory,  in  which  she  boldly  attempted 
to  disprove  the  truth  of  the  fact  Tennyson  has  so  inimitably  em- 
oodied  in  "  The  Palace  of  Art,"  namely,  that  love  of  beauty,  and 
intellectual  culture,  cannot  satisfy  the  God- given  aspirations  of 
the  soul.  Her  guardian  fully  comprehended  the  dawning,  and  aa 
yet  unacknowledged  dread  which  prompted  this  article,  and 
baetily  laying  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  he  said  : 

"Ah,  proud  girl  1  you  are  struggling  desperately  with  youi 
beart.     You,  too,  have  reared  a  '  palace '  on  dreary,  almost , 
Inaccessible  crags  ;  and  because  already  you  begin  to  weary  of 
your  isolation,  you  would  fain  hurl  invectives  at  Tennyson,  who 
explores  your  mansion,  '  so  royal,  rich  and  wide,'  and  discover* 


848  B  E  U  L  A  fl  . 

the  grim  spectres  that  dwell  with  you  !  You  were  very  misera 
blc  when  you  wrote  that  sketch  ;  you  are  not  equal  to  what  yon 
have  undertaken.  Child,  this  year  of  trial  and  loneliness  has 
left  its  impres»ou  your  face.  Are  you  not  yet  willing  to  give  np 
the  struggle  ?" 

The  moon  had  risen,  and  as  its  light  shone  on  her  connte- 
nance,  he  saw  a  fierce  blaze  in  her  eyes  he  had  never  noticed 
there  before.  She  shook  off  his  light  touch,  and  answered  : 

"  No  1     I  will  never  give  up  1" 

He  smiled,  and  left  her. 

She  remained  with  her  sick  friend  until  sunrise  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  ere  she  left  the  house,  was  rewarded  by  the  assurance 
that  she  was  better.  In  a  few  days,  Kate  was  decidedly  conva 
lescent.  Beulah  did  not  take  typhus  fever. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE  day  was  sullen,  stormy  and  dark.  Grey,  leaden  clouds 
were  scourged  through  the  sky  by  a  howling  southeastern  gale, 
and  the  lashed  waters  of  the  bay  broke  along  the  shore  with  a 
solemn,  continued  boom.  The  rain  fell  drearily,  and  sheet  light- 
ning, pale  and  constant,  gave  a  ghastly  hue  to  the  scudding 
clouds.  It  was  one  of  those  lengthened  storms  which,  during 
the  month  of  August,  are  so  prevalent  along  the  gulf  coast. 
Clara  Sanders  sat  near  a  window,  bending  over  a  piece  of  needle- 
work, whih,  w'.th  her  hands  clasped  behind  her,  Beulah  walked 
ap  and  down  the  floor.  Their  countenances  contrasted  vividly; 
Clara's  sweet,  placid  face,  with  drooped  eyelids  and  Madonna- 
like  serenity;  the  soft,  auburn  hair  curled  about  her  cheeks,  auc* 
the  delicate  lips  in  peaceful  rest.  And  Beulah  ! — how  shall  I 
adequately  paiut  the  gK>rn  and  restlessness  written  in  her  storuij 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  348 

countenance  ?  To  tell  you  that  her  brow  was  Dent  aad  lowei 
ing,  that  her  lips  were  now  unsteady,  and  now  tightly  compressed, 
and  that  her  eyes  were  full  of  troubled  shadows,  would  convej 
but  a  faint  impression  of  the  anxious  discontent  which  seemed  to 
hare  taken  entire  possession  of  her.  Clara  glanced  at  her, 
sighed,  and  went  on  with  her  work  ;  she  knew  perfectly  well  sh* 
was  in  no  humor  for  conversation.  The  rain  increased  until  il 
foil  in  torrents,  and  the  hoarse  thunder  muttered  a  dismal  accom- 
paniment. It  grew  too  dark  to  see  the  stitches  ;  Clara  put  by 
her  work,  and  folding  her  hands  on  her  lap,  sat  looking  out  into 
the  storm,  listening  to  the  roar  of  the  rushing  wind,  as  it  bowed 
the  tree-tops  and  uplifted  the  white-capped  billows  of  the  bay 
Benlah  paused  beside  the  window,  and  said  abruptly  : 

"  It  is  typical  of  the  individual,  social,  moral,  and  intellectual 
life.  Look  which  way  you  will,  you  find  antagonistic  elements 
fiercely  warring.  There  is  a  broken  cog,  somewhere,  in  the 
machinery  of  this  plunging  globe  of  ours.  Everything  organic, 
and  inorganic,  bears  testimony  to  a  miserable  derangement. 
There  is  not  a  department  of  earth  where  harmony  reigns 
True,  the  stars  are  serene,  and  move  in  their  everlasting  orbits, 
with  fixed  precision,  bnt  they  ars  not  of  earth  ;  here  there  is 
nothing  definite,  nothing  certain.  The  seasons  are  regular,  but 
they  are  determined  by  other  worlds.  Verily,  the  contest  is  still 
fiercely  waged  between  Ormuzd  and  Ahriraan,  and  the  last  has 
the  best  of  it,  so  far.  The  three  thousand  years  of  Ahriman 
Beotn  dawning." 

She  resumed  her  walk,  and  looking  after  her  anxiously,  Clara 
ins'wered  : 

"  But  remember,  the  '  Zend-Avesta,'  promises  that  Ormuza 
shall  finally  conquer,  and  reign  supreme.  In  this  happy  king 
join,  I  love  to  trace  the  resemblance  to  the  millennium  which 
was  shown  St.  John  on  lonely  Patraos." 

"  It  is  small  comfort  to  anticipate  a  time  of  blessedness  for 
fntare  generations.  What  benefit  is  steam  or  telegraph  to  th« 
Bordering  mammies  of  *.he  catacombs  ?  I  want  to  know  whal 


350  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

gx>d  the  millennium  will  do  you  and  me,  when  our  dust  ii 
mingled  with  mother  earth,  in  some  silent  necropolis  ?" 

"  Oh,  Beulah  !  what  ails  you  to-day  ?  You  look  so  glooinj 
arid  wretched.  It  seems  to  me,  you  have  changed  sadly  of  late, 
I  knew  *hat  a  life  of  labor,  such  as  you  voluntarily  assumed, 
would  chasten  your  spirit,  but  I  did  not  expect  this  utter  revolt 
tion  of  your  nature  so  soon.  Oh,  have  done  with  skepticism  1" 

"  Faith  in  creeds  is  not  to  be  put  on  and  laid  aside  at  will, 
like  a  garment.  Granted  that  these  same  doctrines  of  Zoroaster 
are  faint  adumbrations  of  the  Hebrew  creed,  the  Gordian  knot 
is  by  DO  means  loosed.  That  prologue  in  Faust v  horrified  you 
yesterday ;  yet,  upon  niy  word,  I  don't  see  why  ;  for  very  evidently 
it  is  taken  from  Job,  and  Faust  is  but  an  ideal  Job,  tempted  in 
more  subtle  manner  than  by  the  loss  of  flocks,  houses  and  child- 
ren. You  believe  that  Satan  was  allowed  to  do  his  utmost  to 
ruin  Job,  and  Mephistopheles  certainly  set  out  on  the  same 
fiendish  mission.  Mephistopheles  is  not  the  defiant  demon  of 
Milton,  but  a  powerful  prince  in  the  service  of  God.  You  need 
not  shudder  ;  I  am  giving  no  partial  account,  I  merely  repeat 
the  opinion  of  many  on  this  subject.  It  is  all  the  same  to  me. 
Evil  exists  :  that  is  the  grim  fact.  As  to  its  origin  ;  I  would 
about  as  soon  set  off  to  search  for  the  city  Asgard." 

"  Still,  I  would  not  give  my  faith  for  all  your  learning  and 
philosophy.  See  what  it  has  brought  you  to,"  answered  Clara, 
sorrowfully. 

"Your  faith  !  what  does  it  teach  you  of  this  evil  principle  ?* 
retorted  Beulah,  impatiently. 

"At  least,  more  than  all  speculation  has  taught  you.  Yon 
Adirat,  that  of  its  origin  yon  know  nothing  ;  the  Bible  tells  me, 
that  time  was  when  earth  was  sinless^  and  man  holy,  and  that 
death  and  sin  entered  the  world  by  man's  transgression  " 

"  Which  I  don't  believe,"  interrupted  Beulah. 

"So  you  might  sit  there  and  stop  your  ears,  and  close  your 
»yea,  and  assert  that  this  was  a  sunny,  serene  day.  Your  recep 
iion,  or  rejection  of  the  Biblical  record,  by  no  means  affects  it« 


B  E  U  L  A  H  351 

authenticity.  My  faith  teaches  that  the  evil  you  so  bitterly  \ 
deprecate  is  not  eternal ;  shall  finally  be  crushed,  and  the  har 
roony  you  crave,  pervade  all  realms.  Why  an  All-wise,  and 
All-powerful  God,  suffers  evil  to  exist,  is  not  for  his  finite  crea> 
tures  to  determine.  It  is  one  of  many  mysteries,  which  it  is  as 
utterly  useless  to  bother  over  as  to  weave  ropes  of  sand." 

She  gathered  up  her  sewing  materials,  put  them  in  her  basket, 
and  retired  to  her  own  room.  Beulah  felt  relieved  when  the 
door  closed  behind  her,  and  taking  up  Theodore  Parker's  "  Dis- 
courses,"  began  to  read.  Poor  famishing  soul  !  what  chaff  she 
eagerly  devoured.  In  her  anxious  haste,  she  paused  not  to  per- 
ceive that  the  attempted  refutations  of  Christianity  contained 
objections  more  gross  and  incomprehensible  than  the  doctrine 
assailed.  Long  before,  she  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion,  that 
ethical  and  theological  truth  must  be  firmly  established  on 
psychologict  1  foundations,  hence  she  plunged  into  metaphysics, 
studying  trevitise  after  treatise,  and  system  after  system.  To  her 
grievous  di<  appointment,  however,  the  psychology  of  each 
seemed  different,  nay  opposed.  She  set  out  believing  her  "  con- 
sciousness "  v.he  infallible  criterion  of  truth  ;  this  she  fancied 
philosophy  taught,  at  least  professed  to  teach  ;  but  instead  of 
unanimity  among  metaphysicians,  she  found  fierce  denunciation 
of  predecessors,  ingenious  refutations  of  principles,  which  they 
had  evolved  from  rigid  analysis  of  the  facts  of  consciousness, 
and  an  intolerant  dogmatism  which  astonished  and  confused  her. 
One  extolled  Locke  as  an  oracle  of  wisdom  ;  another  ridiculed 
the  shallowness  of  his  investigations  and  the  absurdity  of  his 
doctrines  ;  while  a  third,  showed  conclusively,  that  Locke's  assail- 
ant knew  nothing  at  all  of  what  he  wrote,  and  maintained  that 
be  alone  could  set  matters  right.  She  studied  Locke  for  her- 
self. Either  he  was  right,  and  all  the  others  were  wrong,  or  else 
there  was  no  truth  in  any.  Another  philosopher  professed  to 
ground  some  points  of  his  faith  on  certain  principles  of  Des- 
cartes ;  the  very  next  work  she  read,  proclaimed  that  Descartes 
never  held  any  suca  principles,  that  the  writer  had  altogether 


, 


852  B  E  TT  L  A  H  . 

mistaken  bis  views  ;  whereupon  up  started  another,  vrnt 
informed  her  that  nobody  knew  what  Descartes  reallj  did 
oelieve  on  the  subject  under  discussion  ;  that  it  was  a  mooted 
question  among  his  disciples.  This  was  rather  discouraging, 
bat,  nothing  daunted,  she  bought,  borrowed  and  read  on. 

Brown's  descent  upon  Reid  greatly  interested  her  ;  true,  there 
were  very  many  things  she  could  not  assent  to,  yet  the  argu- 
ments seemed  plausible  enough,  when  lo!  a  metaphysical  giant 
rescues  Reid  ;  tells  her  that  Brown  was  an  ignoramus  ;  utterly 
misunderstood  the  theory  he  set  himself  to  criticise,  and  was  a 
wretched  bungler ;  after  which  he  proceeds  to  show  that 
although  Brown  had  not  acumen  enough  to  perceive  it,  Reid  had 
himself  fallen  into  grave  errors,  and  culpable  obscurity.  Who 
was  right,  or  who  was  wrong,  she  could  not  for  her  life  decide. 
It  would  have  been  farcical,  indeed,  had  she  not  been  so 
anxiously  in  earnest.  Beginning  to  distrust  herself,  and  with  a 
dawning  dread  lest,  after  all,  psychology  would  prove  an  incom- 
petent guide,  she  put  by  the  philosophies  themselves  and 
betook  herself  to  histories  of  philosophy,  fancying  that  here  ah 
bitter  invective  would  be  laid  aside,  and  stern  impartiality  pre- 
vail. Here  the  evil  she  fled  from  increased  fourfold.  One 
historian  of  philosophy  (who  was  a  great  favorite  of  her  guard- 
ian) having  lost  all  confidence  in  the  subjects  he  treated,  se1 
himself  to  work  to  show  the  fallacy  of  all  systems,  from  Auaxi- 
mander  to  Cousin.  She  found  the  historians  of  philosophy  as 
much  at  variance  as  the  philosophers  themselves,  and  looked 
with  dismay  into  the  dim  land  of  vagaries,  into  which  metaphy- 
sics had  drawn  the  brightest  minds  of  the  past.  Then  lior 
guardian's  favorite  quotation  recurred  to  her  with  painful  signi- 
ficance :  "  There  is  'no  criterion  of  truth  ;  all  is  merely  subjec- 
tive truth."  It  was  the  old  skeptical  palladium,  ancient  as 
metaphysics.  She  began  to  despair  of  the  truth  in  this  direc- 
tioii ;  but  it  certainly  existed  somewhere.  She  commenced  the 
study  of  Cousin  with  trembling  eagerness  ;  if  at  all,  she  would 
eurely  find  in  a  harmonious  "  Eclectieism,"  the  absolute  truth 


B  E  U  L  A  H  b53 

ghe  had  chased  through  so  many  metaphysica  doublings 
'{  E-  lecticism  "  would  cull  for  her  the  results  of  all  soarch  and 
reasoning.  For  a  time,  she  believed  she  had  indeed  found  a 
resting-place  ;  his  "  true  "  satisfied  her  ;  his  "  beautiful "  fasci- 
nated her;  but  when  she  came  to  examine  his  "  Theodicea/' 
And  trace  its  results,  she  shrank  back  appalled.  She  was  not 
ot  prepared  to  embrace  his  subtle  pantheism.  Thus  far  had  her 
sincere  inquiries  and  efforts  brought  her.  It  was  no  wonder  her 
hopeful  nature  grew  bitter  and  cynical ;  no  wonder  her  brow 
was  bent  with  puzzled  thought,  and  her  pale  face  haggard  and 
joyless.  Sick  of  systems,  she  began  to  search  her  own  soul  ; 
did  the  very  thing  of  all  others  best  calculated  to  harass  her 
mind  and  Gil  it  with  inexplicable  mysteries.  She  constituted 
her  own  reason  the  sole  judge;  and  then,  dubious  of  the  verdict, 
arraigned  reason  itself  before  itself.  Now  began  the  desperate"! 
struggle.  Alone  and  unaided,  she  wrestled  with  some  of  the 
grimest  doubts  that  can  assail  a  human  soul.  The  very  preva- 
lence of  her  own  doubts  augmented  the  difficulty.  On  every  side 
she  saw  the  footprints  of  skepticism  ;  in  history,  essays,  novels,  ' 
poems,  and  reviews.  Still,  her  indomitable  will  maintained  the 
contlict.  Her  hopes,  aims,  energies,  all  centred  in  this  momen- 
tous struggle.  She  studied  over  these  world-problems  until  heij 
ryes  grew  dim,  and  the  veins  on  her  brow  swelled  like  cords. 
Often,  grey  dawn  looked  in  npoa  her,  still  sitting  before  her  desk, 
with  a  sickly,  waning  lamp-light  gleaming  over  her  pallid  face. 
A.ud  to-day,  as  she  looked  out  on  the  flying  clouds,  and  listened 
to  the  mournful  wail  of  the  rushing  gale,  she  seemed  to  stand 
upon  the  verge  of  a  yawning  chaos.  "What  did  she  believe? 
She  knew  not.  Old  faiths  had  crumbled  away  ;  she  stood  in  a 
dreary  waste,  strewn  with  the  wreck  of  creeds  and  systems  ;  a 
lilent  desolation  1  And  with  Richters  Christ  she  exclaimed  : 
"  Oh  !  how  is  each  so  solitary  in  this  wide  grave  of  the  All  ?  I 
am  aloue  with  myself.  Oh,  Father  I  oh,  Father,  where  is  thy 
infinite  bosom,  that  I  might  rest  on  it  ?"  A  belief  in  something 
she  must  hare  ;  it  was  an  absolute  necessity  c-f  the  Foul.  Then 


•354  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

was  no  scoffing  tendency  in  her  skepticism  ;  she  could  not  jest 
over  the  solemn  issues  involved,  and  stood  wondeiing  which  waj 
she  should  next  journey  after  this  "  pearl  of  great  price."  L 
was  well  for  her  that  garlands  of  rhetoric  and  glittering  logic 
lay  over  the  pitfalls  before  her;  for  there  were  unsounded  abysses, 
Barker  than  any  she  had  yet  endeavored  to  fathom.  Clara 
eaine  back,  and  softly  laid  her  hand  on  her  friend's  arm. 

"  Please  put  up  your  book,  and  sing  something  for  me,  won't  you?' 

Benlah  looked  at  the  serene  countenance,  so  full  of  resignation, 
and  answered,  gloomily  : 

"  What  1  are  you,  too,  tired  of  listening  to  this  storm-anthem 
mature  has  treated  us  to  for  the  last  two  days  ?  It  seems  to  me 
the  very  universe,  animate  and  inanimate,  is  indulging  in  an 
uncontrollable  fit  of  the  '  blues.'  One  would  almost  think  the 
dead-march  was  being  played  up  and  down  the  aisles  of  creatiou." 

She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  hot  brow,  as  if  to  wipe  away 
the  cobwebs  that  dimmed  her  vision,  and  raising  the  lid  of  the 
piano,  ran  her  fingers  over  the  keys. 

"  Sing  me  something  hopeful  and  heart-cheering,"  said  Clara, 

"  I  have  no  songs  of  that  description." 

"  Yes,  you  have  :  '  Look  Aloft,'  and  the  '  Psalm  of  Life.'  " 

"  No,  no.  Impossible.  I  could  not  sing  either  now,"  replied 
Beulah,  averting  her  face. 

"  Why  not  now?  They  are  the  excelsior  strains  of  struggling 
pilgrims.  They  were  written  for  the  dark  hours  of  life." 

"  They  are  a  mockery  to  me.  Ask  me  for  anything  else,"  said 
Bhe,  compressing  her  lips. 

Clara  leaned  her  arm  on  the  piano,  and  looking  sadly  at  hef 
companion,  said,  as  if  with  a  painful  effort: 

"  Beulah,  in  a  little  while  we  shall  6e  separated,  and  only  the 
All-Father  knows  whether  we  shall  meet  on  eartb  again.  My 
application  for  that  situation  as  governess,  up  the  country, 
wrought  me  an  answer  to-day.  I  am  to  go  very  soon." 

Beulab  made  no  reply,  and  Clara  continued,  sorrowfully: 

"  It  is  very  painful  to  leave  my  few  remaining  friends,  and  gc 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  35i 

tmong  perfect  strangers,  but  it  is  best  that  I  she  old."     Sh« 
leaned  her  head  on  her  hand,  and  wept. 

"  Why  is  it  best  ?" 

*'  Because  here  I  am  constantly  reminded  of  other  days,  and 
other  hopes,  now  lying  dead  on  my  heart.  But  we  will  not 
speak  of  this.  Of  all  my  ties  here,  my  love  for  you  is  now  the 
strongest.  Oh,  Beulah,  our  friendship  has  been  sacred,  and  I 
dread  the  loneliness  which  will  be  my  portion  when  hundreds  of 
miles  lay  between  us!  The  links  that  bind  orphan  hearts  like 
ours  are  more  lasting  than  all  others." 

"  I  shall  be  left  entirely  alone,  if  you  accept  this  situation. 
Tou  have  long  been  my  only  companion.  Don't  leave  me, 
Clara,"  murmured  Beulah,  while  her  lips  writhed  and  quivered. 

"  You  will  have  the  Asbnrys  still,  and  they  are  sincere  friends  " 

"Yes,  friends,  but  not  companions.  What  congeniality  ia 
toere  between  those  girls  and  myself?  None.  My  isolation 
will  be  complete  when  you  leave  me." 

"  Beulah,  will  yon  let  me  say  what  is  in  my  heart  ?r 

"  Say  it  freely,  my  brown-eyed  darling." 

"  Well  then,  Beulah;  give  it  up;  give  it  up.  It  will  only  bow 
down  your  heart  with  untold  cares  and  sorrows." 

"  Give  up  what  ?" 

"  This  combat  with  loneliness  and  poverty." 

"  I  an  not  lonely,"  answered  Beulah,  with  a  wintry  smile. 

"Oh,  Beulah  1  yes,  you  are;  wretchedly  lonely.  I  have  been 
bat  a  poor  companion  for  you;  intellectually,  you  are  far  beyond 
me,  and  there  has  been  little  congeniality  in  our  tastes  and  pur- 
suite.  I  have  always  know  this ;  and  I  know,  too,  that  you 
never  will  be  a  happy  woman,  until  you  have  a  companion  equal 
in  intellect,  who  nrderstands  and  sympathizes  with  yon.  Ah,  I 
Beulah!  with  all  your  stubborn  pride,  and  will,  and  mental 
endowments,  you  have  a  woman's  heart;  and  crush  its  impulses 
»s  you  may,  it  will  yet  assert  its  sway.  As  I  told  ycu  long  ago, 
grammars,  and  geographies,  ai'.d  duty,  could  not  fill  the  void  in 
wy  heart;  aud  believe  me,  neither  will  metaphysics  and  pbilo 


856  B  E  u  LAH 

sophy,  and  literature,  satisfy  you.  Suppose  you  do  attain  ecl& 
brity  as  a  writer.  Can  the  plaudits  of  strangers  bring  back  t« 
your  solitary  hearth  the  loved  dead,  or  cheer  you  in  your  hou.'8 
of  gloom?  I  too  am  an  orphan;  I  speak  of  what  I  can  appre- 
ciate. You  are  mistaken,  Beulah,  in  thinking  you  can  dispense 
with  sympathy.  You  are  not  sufficient  for  yourself,  as  you  have 
?o  proudly  maintained.  God  has  created  us  for  companionship} 
'it-  is  a  necessity  of  human  nature." 

"  Then  why  are  you  and  I  orphaned  for  all  time  ?"  asked 
Beulah,  coldly. 

"  The  sablest  clouds  of  sorrow  have  silver  linings.  Perhaps 
that  you  and  I  might  turn  more  continually  to  the  God  oi 
orphans.  Beulah,  God  has  not  flooded  earth  with  eternal  sun- 
j  light.  He  knew  that  shadows  were  needed  to  chasten  the  spirits 
| of  his  children,  and  teach  them  to  look  to  him  for  the  renewal 
of  all  blessings.  But  shadows  are  fleeting,  and  every  season  of 
gloom  has  its  morning  star.  Oh,  I  thank  God  that  his  own 
hand  arranged  the  chiaroscuro  of  earth  1"  She  spoke  earnestly; 
the  expression  of  her  eyes  told  that  her  thoughts  had  travelled 
into  the  dim,  weird  land  of  futurity.  Beulah  offered  no  com- 
ment, but  the  gloom  deepened  on  her  brow,  and  her  white 
fingers  crept  restlessly  over  the  piano  keys.  After  a  moment's 
silence,  Clara  continued : 

"  I  would  not  regret  our  separation  so  much,  if  I  left  you  in 
the  possession  of  Christian  faith;  armed  with  a  perfect  trust  in 
the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ.  Oh,  Beulah,  it  makes  my  heart 
ache  when  I  think  of  you,  struggling  so  fiercely  in  the  grasp  o! 
infidelity!  Many  times  have  I  seen  the  light  shining  beneath 
your  door,  long  after  midnight,  and  wept  over  the  conflict  'u 
which  I  knew  you  were  engaged  ;  and  only  God  knows  how 
often  I  have  mingled  your  name  in  my  prayers,  entreating  Him 
to  direct  you  in  your  search,  to  guide  you  safely  through  the> 
paths  of  skepticism,  and  place  your  weary  feet  upon  the  'rock  of 
fcges.'  Oh,  Beulah,  do  not  make  my  prayers  vain  by  your  con 
tiuued  questioning!  Come  back  to  Christ,  and  the  Bible  * 


B  K  U  L  A  H  .  357 

Ccars  glided  down  her  cheeks  as  she  passed  her  arm  rouul  he* 
friend,  and  dropped  her  head  on  her  shoulder.  Beulah's  eyelids 
trembled  an  instant,  but  there  was  no  moisture  in  the  grey 
depths,  as  she  answered : 

"  Thank  you,  Clara,  for  your  interest.  I  am  glad  you  har< 
tftis  faith  you  would  fain  lead  me  to.  Not  for  worlds  would  { 
nnsc-ttle  it,  even  if  I  could.  You  are  comforted  in  your  religion, 
and  it  is  a  priceless  blessing  to  you.  But  I  am  sincere,  even  ir 
my  skepticism.  I  am  honest;  and  God,  if  he  sees  my  heart, 
sees  that  I  am.  I  may  be  an  infidel,  as  you  call  me,  but,  if  so, 
I  am  an  honest  onej  and  if  the  Bible  is  all  true,  as  you  believe, 
God  will  judge  my  heart.  But  I  shall  not  always  be  skeptical; 
I  shall  find  the  truth  yet.  I  know  it  is  a  tedious  journey  I  have 
set  out  on,  and  it  may  be  my  life  will  be  spent  in  the  search,  but 
what  of  that,  if  at  last  I  attain  the  goal  ?  What  if  I  only  live 
to  reach  it  ?  What  will  my  life  be  to  me  without  it  ?" 

"  And  can  you  contentedly  contemplate  your  future,  passed  as 
this  last  year  has  been  ?"  cried  Clara. 

"  Perhaps  '  contentedly '  is  scarcely  the  right  term.  I  shall 
not  murmur,  no  matter  how  dreary  the  circumstances  of  my  Ufa 
may  be,  provided  I  succeed  at  last,"  replied  Beuleh,  resolutely 

"  Oh,  Beulah,  you  make  my  heart  achel" 

"  Then  try  not  to  think  of  or  care  for  me." 

"  There  is  another  heart,  dear  Beulah,  a  heart  sad,  but  noble; 
that  you  are  causing  bitter  anguish.  Are  you  utterly  indifferent 
to  this  also  ?" 

"  All  of  the  last  exists  merely  in  your  imagination.  We  will 
lay  no  more  about  it,  if  you  please." 

She  immediately  began  a  brilliant  overture,  and  Clara  retreated 
tc  the  window.  With  night  the  roar  of  the  tempest  increased  • 
&he  rain  fell  with  a  dull,  uninterrupted  patter,  the  gale  swept 
furiousiy  on,  and  the  heaving,  foaming  waters  of  the  bay  gleamed 
luridly  beneath  the  sheet-lightning.  Clara  stood  looking  out, 
and  before  long  Beulah  joined  hei  ;  then  the  former  said,  sud 
ieuiy; 


858  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

"Do  yon  remember,  that  about  six  years  ago,  a  storm  Hki 
this  tossed  the  Morning  Star  far  from  its  destined  track,  and  for 
many  days  it  was  unheard  of  ?  Do  you  remember,  too,  that  it 
held  one  you  loved  ;  and  that  in  an  agony  of  dread,  lest  he 
should  find  a  grave  among  coral  beds,  you  bowed  your  knee  in 
prayer  to  Almighty  God,  imploring  him  to  calm  the  tempest, 
hush  the  gale,  and  save  him  who  was  so  dear  to  you  ?  Ah, 
Beulah,  you  distrusted  human  pilots  then." 

As  Beulah  made  no  reply,  she  fancied  she  was  pondering  her 
words.  But  memory  had  flown  back  to  the  hour  when  she  knelt 
in  prayer  for  Eugene,  and  she  thought  she  could  far  better  have 
borne  his  death  then,  in  the  glorious  springtime  of  his  youth,  than 
know  that  he  had  fallen  from  his  noble  height.  Then  she  could 
have  mourned  his  loss,  and  cherished  his  memory  ever  after;  now 
she  could  only  pity  and  despise  his  folly.  What  was  that  early 
shipwreck  she  so  much  dreaded,  in  comparison  with  the  sea  of 
vice,  whose  every  wave  tossed  him  helplessly  on  to  ruin.  He 
had  left  her,  an  earnest  believer  in  religion  ;  he  came  back  scoff- 
ing at  everything  sacred.  This  much  she  had  learned  from 
Cornelia.  Was  there  an  intimate  connection  between  the  revo- 
lutions in  his  nature  ?  Misled  by  her  silence,  Clara  said, 
eagerly: 

"  You  were  happy  in  that  early  faith.  Oh,  Beulah,  you  wDl 
never  find  another  so  holy,  so  comforting  1" 

Beulah  frowned,  and  looked  up  impatiently. 

"  Clara,  I  am  not  to  be  persuaded  into  anything.  Leave  uia 
to  myself.  Yon  are  kind,  but  mistaken." 

"  If  I  have  said  too  much,  forgive  me  ;  I  was  actuated  by  sin» 
cere  affection,  and  pity  for  your  state  of  mind." 

"  I  am  not  an  object  of  pity  by  any  means,"  replied  Beulah, 
very  coldly. 

Clara  was  unfortunate  in  her  expressions  ;  she  seemed  to  think 
10,  and  turned  away  ;  but,  conscious  of  having  spoken  hastily, 
Benlab  caught  her  hand,  and  exclaimed  frankly  : 

"Do  not  be  hurt  with  me  ;  I  did  not  intend  to  wound  you 


BET7LAH.  359 


Forgive  me,  Clara.  Don't  go.  When  are  yon  tc  /ea^  e  for  your 
aew  home  ?" 

"  Day  after  to-morrow.  Mr  Arlington  seems  anxious  that  1 
should  come  immediately.  He  has  three  children  ;  a  son  and 
two  daughters.  I  hope  they  are  amiable  ;  I  dread  lest  the} 
prore  unruly  and  spoiled.  If  so,  woe  to  their  governess." 

"  Does  Mr.  Arlington  reside  in  the  village  to  which  you  direct- 
ed your  letter  ?" 

"  No  ;  he  resides  on  his  plantation,  several  miles  from  the 
village.  The  prospect  of  being  in  the  country  is  the  only  redeem- 
ing feature  in  the  arrangement.  I  hope  my  health  will  be  per- 
manently restored  by  the  change  ;  but  of  the  success  of  mf  plan. 
only  time  can  decide." 

"  And  when  shall  we  meet  again  ?"  said  Beulah,  slowly. 

•''  Perhaps,  henceforth,  our  paths  diverge  widely.  We  may 
meet  no  more  on  earth  ;  but,  dear  Beulah,  there  is  a  '  peaceful 
shore,  where  billows  never  beat  nor  tempests  roar,'  where  assur- 
edly we  shall  spend  an  eternity  together  if  we  keep  the  faith 
here.  Oh,  if  I  thought  our  parting  now  was  for  all  time,  I 
should  mourn  bitterly,  very  bitterly  ;  but  I  will  not  believe  it. 
The  arras  of  our  God  support  you.  T  shall  always  pray  that  he 
will  guide  and  save  you."  She  leaned  forward,  kissed  Beulah'i 
forehead,  and  left  the  room, 


CHAPTER    XXVIli. 

ONK  afternoon  in  October,  the  indisposition  of  one  of  her 
•nasic  pupils  released  Beulah  earlier  than  usual,  and  she  deter- 
mined to  seize  this  opportunity  and  visit  the  Asylum.  Of  the 
«yalk  across  the  common,  she  never  wearied  ;  the  grass  had 
grown  brown,  and,  save  the  deep,  changeless  green  of  th« 
wccient  pines,  only  the  hectic  coloring  of  the  dying  year  met  hei 


360  BETTLAH. 

eye.  The  day  was  cool  and  windy,  and  the  common  presented  a 
scene  of  boisterous  confusion,  which  she  paused  to  contemplate. 
A  number  of  boys  had  collected  to  play  their  favorite  games  • 
balls  flew  in  every  direction,  and  merry  shouts  rang  cheerily 
febi  ouga  the  air.  She  looked  on  a  few  moments  at  their  care- 
tess,  happy  sports,  and  resumed  her  walk,  feeling  that  their 
joyousness  was  certainly  contagious,  she  was  so  much  lighter- 
hearted  from  having  watched  their  beaming  faces,  and  listened 
tc  their  ringing  laughter. 

As  she  drew  near  the  Asylum  gate,  memory  began  to  pass  its 
fingers  over  her  heart ;  but  here,  too,  sounds  of  gladness  met 
her.  The  orphans  were  assembled  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the 
building,  chatting  as  cheerfully  as  though  they  we,re  all  members 
of  one  family.  The  little  ones  trundled  hoops,  and  chased  each 
other  Hp  aiid'down  the  gravelled  walks;  some  of  the  boys  tossed 
their  balls,  and  a  few  of  the  larger  girls  were  tying  up  chrysan- 
themums to  slender  stakes.  They  were  dressed  alike;  all  looked 
contented,  neat  and  happy,  and  their  rosy  faces  presented  a 
uoble  tribute  to  the  efficacy  and  untold  blessings  of  the  institu- 
tion. To  many  of  them  Beulah  was  well  known;  she  threw  off 
her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  assisted  the  girls  in  their  work  among 
the  flowers,  while  the  little  ones  gathered  around  her,  lisping 
their  childish  welcome  and  coaxing  her  to  join  in  their  innocent 
games.  The  stately  China  trees,  where,  in  years  gone  by,  Lilly 
and  Claudy  had  watched  the  chirping  robins,  were  again  clad  ib 
their  rich,  golden  livery;  and  as  Beulah  looked  up  at  the  red  brick 
walls,  that  had  sheltered  her  head  in  the  early  days  of  orphan 
age,  it  seemed  but  yesterday  that  she  trod  these  walks  and 
listened  to  the  wintry  wind  sighing  through  these  same  loved 
trees.  The  children  told  her  that  their  matron  had  been  sick 
snd  was  not  yet  quite  well,  and  needing  no  pilot,  Buulah  went 
through  the  house  in  search  of  her.  She  found  her  at  last  in 
the  store-room,  giving  cut  materials  for  the  evening  meal,  and 
had  an  opportunity  of  observing  the  change  which  had  taken 
place  in  the  last  few  months.  She  was  pale  and  thin,  and  het 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  361 

sharpened  features  wore  a  depressed,  weary  expression  ;  but, 
turning  round,  she  perceived  Beulah,  and  a  glad  smile  broke 
instantly  over  her  countenance  as  she  clasped  the  girl's  hand  in 
both  hers. 

"  Dear  child,  I  hare  looked  for  you  a  long  time.  I  did  not 
&ink  you  would  wait  so  many  weeks.  Come  in  and  sit  down." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  had  been  sick  until  I  came  and  heard 
the  children  speak  of  it.  You  should  have  sent  me  word.  I  se« 
JTOU  have  not  entirely  recovered." 

"  No,  I  am  quite  feeble  yet  ;  but  in  time,  I  hope  I  shall  be 
well  again.  Ah,  Beulah,  I  have  wanted  to  see  you  so  much  I 
so  rnuchl  Child,  it  seems  to  me  I  shall  never  get  used  to  being 
separated  from  you." 

Beulah  sat  on  the  sofa  near  her,  and  the  matron's  withered 
hands  were  passed  caressingly  over  the  glossy  bands  of  hair 
which  lay  OL  the  orphan's  white  temples. 

"  I  love  to  come  here  occasionally  ;  it  does  me  good;  but  not 
too  often;  that  would  be  painful,  you  know." 

Beulah  spoke  in  a  subdued  voice,  while  memory  painted  the 
ev filing  when  Eugene  had  sought  her  in  this  apartment,  and 
wiped  away  her  tears  for  Lilly's  absence.  Her"  features  twitched, 
as  she  thought  of  the  bitter  changes  that  rolling  years  work, 
and  she  sighed  unconsciously.  The  matron's  hands  were  stilJ 
smoothing  her  hair,  and  presently  she  said,  with  an  anxious,- 
scrutinizing  look,: 

"  Have  you  been  sick  since  you  were  here  last  ?" 

"  No.     What  makes  you  imagine  such  a  thing  ?'•' 

"  Dear  child,  I  do  not  imagine;  I  know  you  look  worn  and  ill. 
Why,  Beulah,  hold  up  your  hand  ;  there,  see  how  transparent 
it  is  I  Almost  like  wax  1  Something  ails  you,  child  ;  that  X 
know  well  enough." 

"  No,  I  assure  you,  I  am  not  ill.  Sometimes,  of  late,  I  have 
been  troubled  with  the  old  headaches  you  used  to  cure,  when  I 
was  a  child;  but,  on  the  whole,  I  am  well." 

"  Beulah,   they  tell  me   Eugene  is  married,"  said  the  kind 
16 


362  II  1C  U  L  A  a  . 

hearted  woman,  with  another  look  at  the  quiet  face  besidi 
her. 

"  Yes,  he  was  married  neorly  five  months  ago."  A  tremoi 
passed  over  her  lips  as  she  spoke. 

"  Did  you  see  his  wife  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  she  is  a  very  pretty  woman.  I  may  say  a  beautiful 
woman  j  but  she  does  not  suit  him.  At  least,  I  am  afraid  she 
will  not," 

"Ah,  1  knew  as  much!  I  thought  as  much  I"  cried  Mrs. 
Williams. 

"  Why  ?"  asked  Beulah,  wonderingly.  . 

"  Oh,  money  cloaks  all  faults,  child.  I  knew  he  did  not 
marry  her  for  love  I" 

Beulah  started  a  little,  and  said  hastily  : 

"  You  do  him  injustice — great  injustice !  Eugene  was  charmed 
by  her  beauty,  not  her  fortune." 

''  Oh,  heiresses  are  always  beautiful  and  charming  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world  1  Beulah,  do  you  know  that  I  watched  for 
Eugene,  for  days,  and  weeks,  and  months,  after  his  return  from 
Europe  ?  1  wanted  to  see  him — oh,  so  much  1  I  loved  you 
both  as  though  you  were  my  own  children.  I  was  so  proud  of 
that  boy  1  1  had  raised  him  from  a  crawiing  infant,  ana  ne^er 
dreamed  that  he  would  forget  me.  But  he  did-  not  come.  I 
have  not  seen  him  since  he  left,  six  years  ago,  for  Germany. 
Oh,  the  boy  has  pained  me — pained  me  1  I  loved  him  sc 
much  1" 

Beulah's  brow  clouded  heavily,  as  she  said  : 

"  It  is  better  so — better  that  you  should  not  see  him.  He  is 
not  what  he  was  when  he  quitted  us." 

<:ls  it  true,  then,  that  he  drinks — that  he  is  wild  and  dissi- 
pated ?  I  heard  it  once,  but  would  not  believe  it.  Oh,  it  can't 
be  that  Eugene  drinks  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  drinks — not  to  stupid  intoxication,  but  too  freelj 
for  his  health  and  character.  He  does  not  look  like  himsel/ 
oow;» 


B  E  D  L  A  H  .  36? 


Mrs  Williams  bowed  down  her  head,  and  wept  bitterly, 
Bculab  continued,  sorrowfully  : 

"  His  adoption  was  his  rain.  Had  he  remained  dependent  on 
his  individual  exertions,  he  would  have  grown  up  an  honor  to 
himself  and  his  friends.  But  Mr.  Graham  is  considered  '  crj 
wealthy,  and  Eugene  weakly  desisted  from  the  honest  labor 
Trhich  was  his  duty.  His  fashionable  associates  have  ruiued  him. 
In  Europe  he  learned  to  drink,  and  here  his  companions  dragged 
him  constantly  into  scenes  of  dissipation.  But  I  do  not  despair 
of  him  yet.  It  may  be  long  before  he  awakens  from  this  iufatua 
tion,  'but  I  trust  he  will  yet  reform.  I  cannot  bear  to  thiuk  of 
him  as  a  confirmed  drunkard  !  Oh,  no  !  no  !  I  may  be  wrong, 
but  I  still  hope  that  his  nobler  nature  will  conquer." 

"  God  help  the  boy  1  I  have  prayed  for  him  for  years,  and  I 
shall  pray  for  him  still,  though  he  has  forgotten  me." 

She  sobbed,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  apron.  A  joyless 
smile  flitted  over  Beulah's  fixed,  grave  features,  as  she  said, 
encouragingly  : 

"  He  will  come  to  see  you  when  he  returns  from  the  North 
He  has  not  forgotten  you  —  that  is  impossible.  Like  me,  he  owe* 
you  too  much." 

"  I  shall  leave  here,  very  soon,"  said  Mrs.  Williams,  wiping 
ner  eyes. 

"  Leave  the  Asylum  !  for  what  ?" 

"  I  am  getting  old,  child,  and  my  health  is  none  of  the  best. 
The  duties  are  very  heavy  here,  and  I  am  not  willing  to  occupy 
the  position,  unless  I  could  discharge  all  the  duties  faithfully.  I 
ha?e  sent  in  my  resignation  to  the  managers,  and  as  soon  04 
they  succeed  in  getting  another  matron,  I  shall  leave  the  Asy- 
lum I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  go  ;  I  have  been  here  so  long 
that  I  am  very  much  attached  to  the  place  and  the  children. 
But  I  am  not  able  to  do  what  I  have  done,  and  I  know  Li  u 
right  that  I  should  give  up  the  position." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"  I  have  means  enough  to  live  plainly  the  remainder  a   017 


364  BE  TIL  AH. 

life.  I  intend  to  rent  or  buy  a  small  house,  and  settle  down,  and 
be  quiet.  I  feel  now  as  if  I  should  like  to  spend  uiy  days  in 
peace." 

'  Do  you  intend  to  live  alone  ?" 

"  Yes,  child;  except  a  servant,  I  suppose  I  shall  be  quite  alone. 
But  you  will  come  to  see  me  often,  and  perhaps  Eugene  will 
ifemember  me,  some  day,  when  he  is  in  trouble." 

"  No,  I  shall  not  come  to  see  you  at  all  !  I  mean  to  come 
and  live  with  you — that  is,  if  I  may  ?"  cried  Beulah,  springing 
op,  and  laying  her  hand  on  the  matron's. 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  child,  how  glad  I  shall  be  !"  She 
wound  her  arms  round  the  slender  form,  and  laughed  through 
bur  tears. 

Berlah  gently  put  back  the  grey  locks  that  had  fallen  from 
the  border  of  her  cap,  arid  said  hopefully  : 

"  1  am  sick  of  boarding — sick  of  town  1  Let  us  get  a  nice 
little  house,  where  I  can  walk  in  and  out  to  my  school.  Have 
you  selected  any  particular  place  ?" 

"  No.  1  have  looked  at  two  or  three,  but  none  suited  rue 
exactly.  Now  you  can  help  me.  I  am  so  thankful  you  are 
going  to  be  with  me.  Will  you  come  as  soon  as  I  can  be 
released  here  ?" 

Yes,  just  as  soon  as  you  are  ready  for  me  ;  and  I  think  I 
know  a  house  for  rent  which  will  just  suit  us.  Now,  I  want  it 
understood  that  I  am  to  pay  the  rent." 

"  Oh,  no,  child  1  I  won't  hear  to  it,  for  I  am  " 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  I  will  stay  where  I  am." 

"  Oh,  Beulah  !  you  are  not  in  earnest  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  ;  so  say  no  more  about  it.  I  will  come  on  no 
ither  condition.  I  will  see  the  owner  of  the  house,  ascertain 
•rhat  I  can  obtain  it  for,  and  send  you  word.  Then  you  cat 
,ook  at  it,  and  decide." 

"  I  am  quite  willing  to  trust  it  to  you,  child  ;  only  I  can't 
bear  the  thought  of  your  paying  the  rent  for  it.  But  we  ca* 
arrange  that  afterward  " 


BEULAH. 

"  No,  you  must  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  bouse.  I  wit 
go  by  this  evening  and  find  out  about  it,  so  as  to  let  you  know 
at  once.  Have  you  any  idea  when  the  '  board '  will  procure 
another  matron?" 

"  They  have  advertised,  and  several  persons  applied, 1  belicre, 
but  they  were  not  exactly  pleased  with  the  applicants.  I  sup- 
ocso,  however,  that  in  a  few  days  they  will  find  a  substitute  fo*" 
me." 

"  "Well,  be  sure  you  get  a  good  servant,  and  now  I  must  go." 

She  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl  with  unwonted  haste,  and 
ran  down  the  steps.     In  her  frequent  walks,  she  had  noticed 
two  cottages  in  course  of  erection,  not  very  far  from  the  pine 
grove  in  front  of  the  Asylum,  and  now  crossing  the  common,  she 
directed  her  steps   toward   them.      The  lots  were  small,  and) 
belonged  to  Dr.  Asbury,  who  said  he  would  build  a  couple  of  I 
cottages  for  poor  families  to  rent  at  cheap  rates.     As  Beulah  / 
approached  the  houses,  she  saw  the   doctor's  buggy  standing 
near  the  door,  and  thinking  it  a  good  omen,  quickened  her  steps 
Each  buildiug  contained  only  three   rooms   and   a  hall,  with 
a   gallery,    or   rather   portico   in   front.      They    were   genuine 
cottages  orne,  built  after  Downing's  plans,  and  presented  a  taste- 
ful, inviting  appearance.     The  windows  were  arched,  and  th* 
wood-work  elaborately  carved.     Beulah  pushed  open  the  freshly 
painted  gate,  ran  up  the  steps,  and  into  the  hall.     The  carpen 
ters  were  still  at  work  in  the  kitchen,  and  as  she  conjectured, 
bere  she  found  her  friend,  giving  some  final  directions.     She 
looked  round  the  snug  little  kitchen,  and  walking  up  to  Dr, 
Asbury,  who  stood  with  his  back  to  the  door,  she  shook  bis 
hand,  with  a  cheerful  salutation. 

"  Halloo,  Benlah  !  where  did  you  drop  from  ?  glad  to  sc4 
you.  Glad  to  see  you.  How  came  you  prying  into  my  new 
bouses  ?  Answer  me  that  1  Did  you  see  my  spouse  as  you  ram« 
through  the  hall  ?" 

"  No,  I  will  go  back  and  hunt  for  her  " 

"  You  need  not  ;  there  she  comes  down  the  steps  of  the  hciwe 


866  BETJLAH. 

She  would  insist  on  seeing  about  some  shelves  for  this  pieciotw 
kitchen  ;  thinks  I  am  bound  to  put  pantries,  and  closets,  and 
shelves,  all  over  the  house,  for  my  future  tenants.  I  suppose 
before  the  first  poor  family  take  possession,  I  shall  be  expected 
to  fill  the  closet  with  table-linen  and  cutlery,  and  the  larder 
with  sugar,  flour,  and  wax  candles.  Look  here,  Mrs.  Aabury 
how  many  more  shelves  is  this  kitchen  to  have  ?" 

"  It  is  well  she  has  a  conscience,  sir,  since  nature  denied  you 
one,"  answered  Beulah,  whom  Mrs.  Asbury  received  very  affec- 
tionately. 

"  Conscience  1  Bless  my  soul  1  she  has  none,  as  regards  my 
unlucky  purse.  Positively,  she  wanted  to  know,  just  now,  if  I 
would  not  have  that  little  patch  of  ground  between  the  house 
and  the  palirg,  laid  off  into  beds  ;  and  if  I  would  not  piant  a 
few  rose-bushes  and  vines,  for  the  first  rascally  set  of  children 
to  tear  up  by  the  roots,  just  as  soon  as  their  parents  moved  in 
There's  conscience  for  you  with  a  vengeance." 
"  And  what  did  you  say,  sir  ?" 

''  What  did  I  say  ?  why  just  what  every  other  meek  hus« 
band  says  to  appeals  which  '  won't  cost  much,  you  know.'  Of 
course  I  had  no  opinion  of  my  own.  Madame,  here,  is  infallible; 
BO  I  am  put  down  for  maybe  a  hundred  dollars  more.  You  need 
not  have  asked  the  result,  you  true  daughter  of  Eve  ;  every- 
one of  you  understand  wheedling.  Those  two  mischievous  imps 
of  mine  are  almost  as  great  adepts  as  their  mother.  Hey, 
Beulah,  no  whispering  there  !  You  look  as  wise  as  an  owl, 
What  am  I  to  do  next  ?  Paper  the  walls,  and  fresco  the  ceil- 
ings ?  Out  with  it." 

"  I  want  to  ask,  sir,  how  much  rent  your  conscience  vflh 
•11  jw  you  to  demand  for  this  pigeon-box  of  a  house  ?" 

"  Well,  I  had  an  idea  of  asking  two  hundred  dollars  for  it 
*'heap  enough  at  that.  You  may  have  it  for  two  hundred,' 
laid  he,  with  a  good-hnrnored  nod  toward  Beulah. 

"Very  well,  I  will  take  it  at  that,  provided  Mrs.  William? 
likes  it  as  well  as  I  do.  la  a  daj  or  two  I  will  determine.'' 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  367 

"  In  the  name  of  common  sense,  Beulah,  what  freak  is  this?  " 
said  the  doctor,  looking  at  her  with  astonishment. 

"I  am  going  to  live  with  the  matron  of  the  Asylum,  whom 
you  know  very  well.  I  think  this  house  will  suit  us  exactly,  and 
the  rent  suits  my  purse  far  better  than  a  larger  building  would. 
3  am  tired  of  boarding.  I  want  a  little  home  of  my  own,  where,  ' 
when  the  labors  of  school  are  over,  I  can  feel  at  ease.  The 
walk,  twice  a  day,  will  benefit  me,  I  feel  assured.  You  need  not 
look  so  dismal  and  pei'plexed,  I  will  make  a  capital  tenant. 
Your  door-facings  shan't  be  pencil-marked ;  your  windows 
shan't  be  broken,  nor  your  gate  swung  off  its  hinges.  As  for 
those  flowers  you  are  so  anxious  to  plant,  and  that  patch  of 
ground  you  are  so  much  interested  in,  it  shall  blossom  like  the 
plain  of  Sharon." 

He  looked  at  her  wistfully;  took  off  his  spectacles,  wiped 
them  with  the  end  of  his  coat,  and  said,  dubiously : 

"  What  does  Hartwell  think  of  this  project?  " 

"  I  have  not  consulted  him." 

"  The  plain  English  of  which  is,  that  whether  he  approves  or 
condemns,  you  are  determined  to  carry  out  this  new  plan.  Take 
care,  Beulah;  remember  the  old  adage  about  'cutting  off  your 
nose  to  spite  your  face.'  " 

"  Rather  mal  apropos,  Dr.  Asbury,"  said  she,  indifferently. 

"  I  am  an  old  man,  Beulah,  and  know  something  of  life  and 
the  world." 

"  Nay,  George  :  why  dissuade  her  from  this  plan  ?  If  she 
prefers  this  quiet  little  home,  to  the  confinement  and  bustle  of 
a  boarding-house,  if  she  thinks  she  would  be  happier  here  with 
Mrs.  Williams  than  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  why  should  not  she 
come?  Suffer  her  to  judge  for  herself.  I  am  disposed  to 
applaud  her  choice,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Asbury. 

"  Alice,  do  you  suppose  she  will  be  satisfied  to  buiy  herself  1 
out  here,  with  an  infirm  old  woman  for  a  companion  ?  Here  she  J 
must  have  an  early  breakfast ;  trudge  through  rain  .and   cold 
into  town ;  teach  stupid  little  brats  till  evening  ;  then  listen  to 


iJ68  BECLAH. 

others  equally  stupid,  thrum  over  music  lessons,  and  at  last,  tired 
out,  drag  herself  back  here  about  dark,  when  it  is  too  late  to 
see  whether  her  garden  is  a  cotton  patch  or  a  peach  orchard  ' 
Will  you  please  to  tell  me  what  enjoyment  there  is  for  oue  of 
her  temperament  in  such  a  tread-mill  existence  ?" 

"  Your  picture  is  all  shadow,  George;  and  even  if  it  were  not, 
she  is  the  best  judge  of  what  will  promote  her  happiness.  Do 
not  discourage  her.  Ah,  humble  as  the  place  is,  I  know  how 
her  heart  aches  for  a  spot  she  can  call  '  home.'  These  three 
rooms  will  be  a  haven  of  rest  for  her  when  the  day  is  done. 
My  dear  Beulah,  I  trust  you  may  be  very  happy  here,  or 
wherever  you  decide  to  live  ;  you  deserve  to  be." 

"  Thank  you,  madam,  for  your  friendly  sympathy.  I  am  glad 
you  approve  my  design." 

"  Well,  well  ;  if  you  soon  weary  of  this  freak  you  can  easily 
give  up  the  house,  that  is  all.  Now,  Beulah,  if  you  determine 
to  take  it,  rest  assured  I  will  gladly  make  any  additions  or 
alterations  you  may  suggest.  I  dare  say  I  shall  like  you  for  a 
tenant.  But  see  here,  Mrs.  Asbury,  I  have  patients  to  look 
after.  Please  to  remember  that  I  am  a  professional  character, 
consequently  can  call  no  moment  my  own.  What  !  another 
row  ef  shelves  round  that  side  ?  This  building  houses  for  rent 
is  a  ruinous  speculation  1  Come,  it  is  too  late  now  to  go  over 
the  rooms  again  ;  to-morrow  will  do  as  well.  Beulah,  are  you 
going  to  play  cook,  too  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !  Mrs.  Williams  will  find  us  a  servant.  Good 
bye.  I  will  decide  about  the  house  as  soon  as  possible." 

The  following  day  she  dispatched  a  note  to  the  matron,  with 
information  concerning  the  house  ;  and  at  the  close  of  the  week, 
all  arrangements  were  completed,  so  that  they  might  take  pos- 
gession  as  soon  as  a  new  matron  was  secured.  Thus  the  last  of 
October  glided  swiftly  away,  and  one  cold,  clear  day  in  Noven> 
ber,  Beulah  was  notified  that  Mrs.  Williams  was  comfortably 
settled  in  the  new  home.  She  went  to  school  as  usual,  and 
when  the  recitations  were  ended,  started  out  with  a  glad  heart 


B  K  U  L  A  H  .  309 

ind  springing  step.  In  half  an  hour  she  reacned  the  littlt 
white  gate,  and  found  Mrs.  Williams  waiting  there  to  wdcoma 
her.  Everything  was  new  and  neat ;  the  tastefully  selected  car- 
pets were  not  tapestry,  but  cheap  ingrain  ;  the  snowy  curtains 
were  of  plain  dimity,  with  rose-colored  borders,  and  the  tea 
table  held,  instead  of  costly  Sevres,  simple  white  china,  with  a 
baud  of  gilt.  A  bright  Gre  crackled  and  glowed  in  the  chimney, 
and  as  B^ulah  stood  on  the  hearth,  and  glanced  round  the  com- 
fortable little  room,  which  was  to  be  both  parlor  and  dining- 
room,  she  felt  her  heart  thrill  with  delight,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  This  is  home  !  at  last  I  feel  that  I  have  a  home  of  my  own  I 
Not  the  Rothchilds,  in  their  palaces,  are  so  happy  as  1 1" 

For  years  she  had  been  a  wanderer,  with  no  hearthstone,  and 
now  for  the  first  time  since  her  father's  death  she  was  at  home. 
Not  the  home  of  adoption  ;  nor  the  cheerless  room  of  a  board- 
iag-house,  but  the  humble  home  which  labor  and  rigid  economy 
had  earned  for  her.  Her  heart  bounded  with  joy  ;  an  unwonted 
glow  suffused  her  cheeks,  and  her  parted  lips  trembled.  The 
evening  passed  quickly,  and  when  she  retired  to  her  own  room 
she  was  surprised  to  find  a  handsome  rosewood  book  case  and 
desk  occupying  one  corner.  She  opened  the  glass  doors  and 
saw  her  books  carefully  arranged  on  the  shelves.  Could  hej 
guardian  have  sent  it  ?  No,  since  her  refusal  of  the  watch,  she 
felt  sure  he  would  not  have  offered  it.  A  small  note  lay  on  the 
shelf  and  recognizing  the  delicate  hand-writing,  she  read  the 
lines,  containing  these  words  : 

"  BSCLAH  :  Accept  the  accompanying  case  and  desk,  as  a  slight  testi- 
mony of  the  affection  of 

"  Your  sincere  friend, 

"  ALICE  ASBUBY." 

Tears  sprang  into  her  eyes  as  she  opened  the  desk  and  dis- 
severed  an   elegant  pen    and   pencil,   and    every  convenience 
connected  with  writing.      Turning   away,  she  saw  beside  th< 
Sre,  a  large,  deep  easy-chair,  cushioned  with  purple  moroccq 
16* 


B70  BEULAH. 

and  knew  it  was  exactly  Iik6   one  she  bad  often  seen  in  [)r 
Asbury's  library.     On  the  back  was  pinned  a  narrow  slip  of 
paper,  and  she  read,  in  the  doctor's  scrawling,  quaint  writing  : 
"  Child,  don't  be  too  proud  to  use  it." 

She  was  not  ;  throwing  herself  into  the  luxurious  chair,  tht 
«roke  the  seal  of  a  letter  received  that  day  from  Pauline  Morti. 
nor  Once  before,  soon  after  her  marriage,  a  few  lines  of  gay 
greeting  had  come,  and  then  many  mouths  had  elapsed.  As  she 
unfolded  the  sheet,  she  saw,  with  sorrow,  that  in  several  places, 
it  was  blotted  with  tears;  and  the  contents,  written  in  a  paroxysm 
of  passion,  disclosed  a  state  of  wretchedness  which  Beulah  little 
Buspected.  Pauline's  impulsive,  fitful  nature,  was  clearly  indexed 
in  the  letter,  and  after  a  brief  apology  for  her  long  sileuce,  she 
wrote  as  follows  : 

"  Oh,  Beulah,  I  am  so  miserable  ;  so  very,  very  wretched  ! 
Beulah,  Ernest  does  not  love  me  !  You  will  scarcely  believe  me. 
Oh,  I  hardly  know  how  to  believe  it  myself  1  Uncle  Guy  was 
right  ;  I  do  not  suit  Ernest  ;  but  I  loved  him  so  very,  very 
dearly  ;  and  thought  him  so  devoted  to  me.  Fool  that  I  was  1 
my  eyes  are  opened  at  last.  Beahih,  it  nearly  drives  me  wild,  to 
Lhiuk  that  I  am  bound  to  him  for  life,  an  unloved  wife.  Not  a 
year  has  passed  since  our  marriage,  yet  already  he  has  tired  of 
my  '  pretty  face.'  Oh,  Beulah,  if  I  could  only  come  to  you,  and 
put  my  arms  round  your  neck,  and  lay  my  poor  weary  head 
down  on  your  shoulder,  then  I  could  tell  you  all "  —  - 

Here  several  sentences  were  illegible  from  tears,  and  she  could 
only  read  what  followed. 

"  Since  yesterday  morning,  Ernest  has  not  spoken  to  me.  While 
1  write,  he  is  sitting  in  the  next  room,  reading,  as  cold,  iudiffer 
ent  and  calm  as  if  I  were  not  perfectly  wretched.  He  is  tyran- 
nical ;  and  because  I  do  not  humor  all  his  whims,  and  have  some 
will  of  my  own,  he  treats  me  with  insulting  indifference.  He  is 
ingry  now,  because  I  resented  some  of  his  father's  impertinent 
speeches  about  my  dress.  This  is  not  the  first,  nor  the  second 


BETLAH.  371 

time  that  we  Lave  quarrelled.  He  has  an  old  inaid  sister,  who  ii 
forever  meddling  about  my  affairs,  aud  sueering  at  my  dc  mcstic 
arrangements  ;  and  because  I  finally  told  her  I  believed  I  waa 
mistress  of  my  own  house,  Ernest  has  never  forgiven  me.  Ellen 
(the  sister  I  loved,  and  went  to  school  with)  has  married,  and 
moved  to  a  distant  part  of  the  State.  The  other  members  of  h'ui 
family  are  bigoted,  proud  aud  parsimonious,  and  they  have  chieflj 
made  the  breach  between  us.  Oh,  Beulah,  if  I  could  onlj  undo  ' 
the  past,  and  be  Pauline  Chilton  once  more  !  Oh,  if  I  could  be 
free  and  happy  again  !  But  there  is  no  prospect  of  that.  I  am 
his  wife,  as  he  told  me  yesterday,  and  suppose  I  must  drag  out  a 
miserable  existence.  Yet  I  will  not  be  trampled  on  by  his  .family 
His  sister  spends  much  of  her  time  with  us  ;  reads  to  Ernest  • 
talks  to  him  about  things  that  she  glories  in  telling  me  I  don't 
understand  the  first  word  of.  Beulah,  I  was  anxious  to  study, 
and  make  myself  a  companion  for  him,  but,  try  as  I  may,  Lucy 
contrives  always  to  fret  and  thwart  me.  Two  days  ago,  she 
nearly  drove  me  beside  myself,  with  her  sneers  and  allusions  to 
my  great  mental  inferiority  to  Ernest  (as  if  I  were  not  often 
enough  painfully  reminded  of  the  fact,  without  any  of  her  assist 
ance !)  I  know  I  should  not  have  said  it,  but  I  was  too  angry 
to  think  of  propriety,  and  told  her  that  her  presence  in  my  home 
was  very  disagreable.  Oh,  if  yon  could  have  seen  her  insulting 
smile,  as  she  answered,  that  her  '  noble  brother  needed  her,  and 
she  felt  it  a  duty  to  remain  with  him.'  Beulah,  I  love  my  hus- 
band ;  I  would  do  anything  on  earth  to  make  him  happy,  if  we 
were  left  to  ourselves,  but  as  to  submitting  to  Lucy's  arrogance 
and  sneers,  I  will  not  !  Ernest  requires  me  to  apologize  to  his  \ 
father  and  sister,  and  I  told  him  I  would  not  !  I  would  die  first !  , 
lie  does  not  love  me,  or  he  would  shield  me  from  such  trials.  H« 
ihinks  his  sister  is  perfection,  and  I  tell  you  I  do  absolutely  detest 
her.  Now,  Beulah,  there  is  no  one  else  to  whom  I  would  men- 
tion my  unhappiuess.  Mother  does  not  suspect  it,  and  nevei 
shall,  even  when  she  visits  me.  Uncle  Guy  predicted  it,  and  I 
r«-gld  not  have  him  know  it  for  the  universe.  But  I  can  trusrt 


872  BEULAH. 

you  ;  I  feel  that  you  will  sympathize  with  me,  and  I  want  you  t« 
counsel  me.  Oh,  tell  rue  what  I  ought  to  do  to  rid  myself  of 
this  tormenting  sister-in-law  and  father-in-law,  and  I  may  say,  al 
Ernest's  kin.  Sometimes,  when  I  think  of  the  future,  I  absolutely 
>midder  ;  for  if  matters  go  on  this  way  much  longer,  I  shall 
learn  to  hate  my  husband  too.  He  knew  my  disposition  before 
be- married  me,  and  has  no  right  to  treat  me  as  he  does.  If  it 
were  only  Ernest,  I  could  bring  myself  to  '  obey '  him,  for  I  lov« 
him  very  devotedly  ;  but  as  to  being  dictated  to  by  all  his  rela 
tives,  I  never  will  !  Beulah,  burn  this  blurred  letter,  don't  let 
anybody  know  how  drearily  I  am  situated.  I  am  too  proud  tc 
have  my  misery  published.  To  know  that  people  pitied  me, 
would  kill  me.  I  never  can  be  happy  again,  but  perhaps  you 
can  help  me  to  be  less  miserable.  Do  write  to  me  !  Oh,  how  I 
wiah  you  could  come  to  me  1  I  charge  you,  Beulah,  don't  let 
Uncle  Guy  know  that  I  am  not  happy.  Good  bye.  Oh,  if  ever 
you  marry,  be  sure  your  husband  has  no  old  maid  sisters,  and  no 
officious  kin  !  I  am  crying  so,  that  I  can  barely  see  the  lines. 
Good  bye,  dear  Beulah. 

"  PAULINE." 

Beulah  leaned  forward,  and  dropped  the  letter  into  the  glow- 
ing mass  of  coals.  It  shrivelled,  blazed  and  vanished,  and  with  a 
heavy  sigh,  she  sat  pondering  the  painful  contents.  What  advice 
could  she  possibly  give  that  would  remedy  the  trouble  ?  She 
was  aware  that  the  young  wife  must  indeed  have  been  "very 
wretched,"  before  she  could  consent  to  disclose  her  domestic 
feuds  to  another.  Under  happier  auspices,  she  felt  that  Pauline 
would  have  made  a  devoted,  gentle  wife,  but  feared  it  was  now 
too  late  to  mold  her  character  in  conformity  with  her  husband's 
wishes.  "  So  much  for  a  union  of  uncongenial  naturef ,"  thought 
Beulah,  as  she  prepared  to  answer  the  unlucky  letter.  As  guard- 
edly as  possible,  she  alluded  to  Mr.  Mortimor  and  his  family,  and 
urged  Pauline  to  talk  to  her  husband  gently,  but  firmly,  and 
assure  him  that  the  continued  interference  of  his  family  was  un- 
indurable.  If  her  remonstrances  proved  futile,  to  do  what  she 


B  E  u  L  A  n  .  373 

considered  due  to  herself  as  mistress  of  hei  own  establishment 
and  try  not  to  notice  the  annoyances  of  others.  Beulah  felt,  and 
acknowledged  her  inability  to  advise  the  young  wife  in  the  diffi 
cult  position  in  which  she  was  placed,  and  closed  by  assuring  hei 
that  only  her  own  good  sense,  guided  by  sincere  love  for  her 
husband,  could  rightly  direct  her  course.  She  was  warmly 
attached  to  Pauline,  and  it  was  with  a  troubled  heart  that  she 
addressed  her  reply. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

THE  Grahams  were  all  at  home  again,  and  Eugene  and  his 
oride  had  been  for  several  weeks  fairly  settled  in  their  elegant 
new  house.  Beulah  had  seen  none  of  the  family  since  their  re- 
turn, for  her  time  was  nearly  all  occupied,  and  as  soon  as  released 
from  school,  she  gladly  hurried  out  to  her  little  hoiE«  One 
evening,  as  she  left  the  Academy,  Mr.  Graham's  spirited  horses 
dashed  up  to  the  gate,  and  the  coachman  handed  her  a  note.  It 
was  from  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Miss  BEXTON  : 

"  Cornelia  is  quite  indisposed,  and  begs  that  you  will  call  and  sec 
hei  this  afternoon.     A.B  it  threatens  rain,  I  send  the  carriage. 

"S.  GRAHAM." 

Beulah  crumpled  the  note  between  her  fingers,  and  hesitated. 
The  coachman  perceived  her  irresolution,  and  hastened  to  say  : 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  the  horses,  miss.  Miss  Nett'  ridei 
10  much  they  are  tamed  down." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  the  horses.  Has  Cornelia  been  auk 
Snce  her  return  from  the  North  ?" 

"  Why;  miss,  she  came  home  worse  than  ever.  She  has  not 
been  down-stairs  since.  She  is  sick  all  the  time  now." 

Bt-ulah  hesitated  no  longer.  Mrs.  Graham  met  her  at  the 
ioor,  and  greeted  her  more  cordially  than  she  had  done  on  aoj 


374  BEUL  A  M 

previous  occasion.  She  looked  anxious  and  wear?,  and  saki,  a» 
ehe  led  the  way  to  her  daughter's  apartment ; 

"  We  are  quite  uneasy  about  Cornelia  ;  you  will  find  her 
sadly  altered."  She  ushered  Beulah  into  the  room,  then  imme- 
diately withdrew. 

Cornelia  was  propped  up  by  cushions  and  pillows  in  her  easy* 
^hair  ;  her  head  was  thrown  back,  and  ner  gaze  appeared  to  be 
riveted  on  a  painting  which  hung,  opposite.  Beulah  stood  beside 
her  a  moment,  unnoticed,  and  saw  with  painful  surprise  the 
ravagas  which  disease  had  made  in  the  once  beautiful  fa^G  aud 
queenly  form.  The  black,  shining  hair  was  cut  short  aud  clus- 
tered in  thick,  wavy  locks  about  the  wan  brow,  now  corrugated 
as  by  some  spasm  of  pain.  The  cheeks  were  hollow  and  ghastly 
pale  ;  the  eyes  sunken,  but  unnaturally  large  and  brilliant ;  and 
the  coloriess  lips  compressed  as  though  to  bear  habitual  suffering. 
Her  wasted  hands,  grasping  the  arms  of  the  chair,  might  have 
served  as  a  model  for  a  statue  of  death,  so  thin,  pale,  almost 
transparent.  Beulah  softly  touched  one  of  them,  and  said  : 

"  Cornelia,  you  wished  to  see  me." 

The  invalid  looked  at  her  intently,  and  smiled. 

"I  thought. you  would  come.  Ah,  Beulah,  do  you  recognize 
this  wreck  as  your  former  friend  ?" 

"  I  was  not  prepared  to  find  you  so  changed  ;  for  until  this 
afternoon  I  was  not  aware  your  trip  had  been  so  fruitless.  DC 
you  suffer  much  ?" 

"  Suffer  1  Yes,  almost  all  the  time  ;  but  it  is  not  the  bodily 
torture  that  troubles  me  so  much — I  could  bear  that  in  silence. 
It  is  my  mind,  Beulah  ;  my  mind." 

She  pointed  to  a  chair  ;  Beulah  dr-?:?  it  near  her,  aud  Cornelia 
.Continued  : 

"  I  thought  I  should  die  suddenly,  but  it  is  to  be  otherwise 
The  torture  is  slow,  lingering.  I  shall  never  leave  this  house 
again  except  to  go  to  my  final  home.  Beulah,  I  have  wanted  to 
iee  you  very  much  ;  I  thought  you  would  hear  of  my  illness  and 
eome.  How  calm  and  pale  you  are.  Give  me  your  hand.  Ab 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  875 

eool  and  pleasant ;  mine  parched  with  fever.  And  yon  have  a 
little  home  of  your  own,  I  hear.  How  have  things  gone  with 
you  since  we  parted  ?  Are  you  happy  ?" 

"  My  little  ho.me  is  pleasant,  and  my  wants  are  few,"  replied 
Beulah. 

"  Have  yon  seen  Eugene  recently  ?" 

**  Not  since  his  marriage." 

A  bitter  laugh  escaped  Cornelia's  lips,  as  she  writhed  an  instant, 
and  then  said  : 

"  I  knew  how  it  would  be.  I  shall  not  live  to  see  the  end, 
but  you  will.  Hal  Beulah,  already  he  has  discovered  his  mis- 
take. I  did  not  expect  it  so  soon  ;  I  fancied  Antoinette  had 
more  policy.  She  has  dropped  the  mask.  He  sees  himself 
wedded  to  a  woman  completely  devoid  of  truth  ;  he  knows  hei 
now  as  she  is  :  as  I  tried  to  show  him  she  was,  before  it  was  too 
late  ;  and  Beulah,  as  I  expected,  he  has  grown  reckless — despe- 
rate. Ah,  if  you  could  have  witnessed  a  scene  at  the  St.  Nicholas, 
in  New  York,  not  long  since,  you  would  have  wept  over  him. 
He  found  his  bride  heartless  ;  saw  that  she  preferred  the  society  \ 
of  other  gentlemen  to  his  ;  that  she  lived  only  for  the  adulation 
of  the  crowd  ;  and  one  evening,  on  coming  home  to  the  hotel, 
found  she  had  gone  to  the  opera  with  a  party  she  knew  he  de- 
tested. Beulah,  it  sickens  me  when  I  think  of  his  fierce  railings, 
and  anguish,  and  scorn.  He  drank  in  mad  defiance,  and  when 
she  returned,  greeted  her  with  imprecations  that  would  have 
bowed  any  other  woman,  in  utter  humiliation,  into  the  dust.  She 
laughed  derisively,  told  him  he  might  amuse  himself  as  he  chose, 
§he  would  not  heed  his  wishes  as  regarded  her  own  movements, 
Luckily,  my  parents  knew  nothing  of  it ;  they  little  suspected, 
nor  do  they  now  know,  why  I  was  taker  so  alarmingly  ill  before 
fiawn.  I  am  glad  I  am  to  go  so  soon  I  could  not  endure  t« 
witness  his  misery  and  disgrace." 

She  closed  her  eyes  and  groaned. 

"  What  induced  her  to  marry  him  ?"  asked  Beulah. 

"0-lf   her   own  false   heart  knows.     But   I   have   alwajf 


876  B  E  U  L  A  fl  . 

believed  she  was  chiefly  influenced  by  a  desire  to  escape  fron 
the  strict  discipline  to  which  her  father  subjected  her  at  home. 
Her  mother  was  anything  but  a  model  of  propriety;  and  hei 
mother's  sister,  who  was  Dr.  Hartwell's  wife,  was  net  moia 
exemplary.  My  uncle  endeavored  to  curb  Antoinette's  danger- 
aus  fondness  for  display  and  dissipation,  and  she  fancied  that,  as 
Eugene's  wife,  she  could  freely  plunge  into  j;aieties  which  were 
sparingly  allowed  her  at  home.  I  know  sh«  does  not  lovo 
Eugene ;  she  never  did ;  and,  assuredly,  his  future  is  dark 
enough.  I  believe,  if  she  could  reform  hirr,  she  would  aoc;  his 
excesses  sanction,  or  at  least  in  some  degree  ppJiate,  Lers.  Oh, 
Beulah,  I  see  no  hope  for  him!" 

"  Have  you  talked  to  him  kindly,  Cornelia  ?  Have  you  faith- 
fully exerted  your  influence  to  check  him  in  his  route  to  ruin  ?" 

"Talked  to  him?  Aye;  entreated,  remonstrated,  upbraided, 
used  every  argument  at  my  command.  But  I  might  as  well  talk 
to  the  winds,  and  hope  to  hush  their  fury.  I  shall  not  stay  to 
see  his  end;  I  shall  soon  be  silent  and  b;youd  all  suffering1; 
death  is  welcome,  very  welcome." 

Her  breathing  was  quick  and  difficult,  and  two  crimson  spota 
burned  on  her  sallow  cheeks.  Her  whole  face  told  of  }ears  of 
bitterness,  and  a  grim  defiance  of  death,  which  sent  a  shudder 
through  Beulah,  as  she  listened  to  the  panting  breath.  Cornelia 
saturated  her  handkerchief  with  some  delicate  perfume  from  a 
cr)stal  vase,  and  passing  it  over  her  face,  continued  : 

"They  tell  me  it  is  time  I  should  be  confirmed;  talk  vaguely 
of  seeing  preachers,  and  taking  the  sacrament,  and  preparing 
myself,  as  if  I  could  be  frightened  into  religion  and  the  church, 
My  mother  seems  just  to  have  waked  up  to  a  knowledge  of  my 
piritual  condition,  as  she  calls  it.  Ah,  Beulah,  it  is  all  dark 
Before  me;  black,  black  as  midnight!  I  am  going  down  to  au 
tternal  night;  down  to  annihilation.  Yes,  Beulah,  soon  I  shall 
descend  into  what  Schiller's  Moor  calls  the  '  nameless  yonder 
Before  long  I  shall  have  done  with  mystery;  shall  be  sunk  int<t 
unbroken  rest."  A  ghastly  smile  parted  her  lips  as  she  spoke 


BETJLAH.  371 

11  Cornelia,  do  you  fear  death  ?" 

"  No,  not  exactly.  I  am  glad  I  am  so  soon  to  be  rA  :i  my 
vexed,  joyless  life;  but  you  know  it  is  all  a  dark  rnysten7;  and 
sometimes,  when  I  recollect  how  I  felt  in  my  childhood,  I  shrink 
from  the  final  dissolution.  I  have  no  hopes  of  a  blissful  future, 
,-uch  as  cheer  some  people  in  their  last  hour.  Of  what  comes  '. 
tS'ter  death,  I  know  and  believe  nothing.  Occasionally,  I  pMver  I 
at  the  thought  of  annihilation ;  bat  if,  after  all,  Revels-ion  ia 
true,  I  have  something  worse  than  annihilation  to  fear  You 
know  the  history  of  my  skepticism;  it  is  the  history  of  hundreds 
in  this  age.  The  inconsistencies  of  professing  Christians  dis- 
gusted me.  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  to  reject  the  doctrines, 
because  of  their  abuse;  but  it  is  too  late,  now,  for  me  to  con- 
sider that.  I  narrowly  watched  the  conduct  of  some  of  the 
members  of  the  various  churches,  and,  as  I  live,  Beulah,  I  have 
never  seen  but  one  who  practised  the  precepts  of  Christ.  I 
concluded  she  would  have  been  just  what  she  was  without  reli- 
gious aids.  One  of  my  mother's  intimate  friends  was  an  osten- 
tatiouSj  pharisaical  Christian ;  gave  alms,  headed  chatty  lists, 
was  remarkably  punctual  in  her  attendance  at  church,  and  appa- 
rently very  devout;  yet  I  accidentally  found  out  that  she  treated 
a  poor  seamstress  (whom  she  hired  for  a  paltry  sum),  in  a  man- 
ner that  shocked  my  ideas  of  consistency,  of  common  humanity. 
The  girl  was  miserably  poor,  and  had  aged  parents,  and  brothers"* 
and  sisters,  dependent  on  her  exertions;  but  her  Christian  em- 
ployer paid  her  the  lowest  possible  price,  and  trampled  on  her  " 
feelings  as  though  she  had  been  a  brute.  Oh,  the  hollowness  , 
of  the  religion  I  saw  practised!  I  sneered  at  everything  con- 
nected with  churches,  and  heard  no  more  sermons,  which  seemed 
'jnly  to  make  hypocrites  and  pharisees  of  the  congregation.  I 
iave  never  known  but  one  exception.  Mrs.  Asbury  is  a  con- 
sistent Christian.  I  have  watched  her,  under  various  circum 
Stances ;  I  have  tempted  her,  in  divers  ways,  to  test  her ;  and 
to-day,  skeptic  as  I  am,  I  admire  and  revere  that  noble  woman 
If  ail  Christians  set  an  example  as  pure  and  bright  as  her«( 


578  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

there  were  less  infidelity  and  atheism  in  the  land.  If  I  had 
known  even  half  a  dozen  such,  I  might  have  had  a  faith  to 
cheer  me  in  the  hour  of  my  struggle.  She  used  to  talk  gently 
to  me  ia  days  past,  but  I  would  not  heed  her.  She  often  cornea 
to  see  me  now;  and  though  I  do  not  believe  the  words  of  com. 
frrt  that  fall  from  her  lips,  still  they  soothe  me;  and  I  love  to 
ia7c  her  sit  near  me,  that  I  may  look  at  her  sweet,  holy  face 
BO  full  of  winning  purity.  Beulah,  a  year  ago  we  talked  of  these 
things;  I  was  then,  as  now,  hopeless  of  creeds,  of  truth,  but  you 
were  sure  you  would  find  the  truth.  I  looked  at  you  eagerly 
when  you  came  in,  knowing  I  could  read  the  result  in  your 
countenance  Ah,  there  is  no  peace  written  there!  Where  is 
your  truth  ?  Show  it  to  me  ?" 

She  twined  her  thin,  hot  fingers  round  Beulah's  cold  hand, 
and  spoke  in  a  weary  tone.  The  orphan's  features  twitched  an 
instant,  and  her  old  troubled  look  came  back,  as  she  said  : 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you,  Cornelia.  It  must  be  terrible,  in- 
deed, to  stand  on  the  brink  of  the  grave  and  have  no  belief  in 
anything.  I  would  give  more  than  I  possess  to  be  able  to  assist 
you,  but  I  cannot ;  I  have  no  truth  to  offer  jou.;  I  have  yet  dis- 
covered nothing  for  myself.  I  am  not  so  sanguine  as  I  was  a 
year  ago,  but  I  still  hope  that  I  shall  succeed." 

"  You  will  not ;  you  will  not.  It  is  all  mocking  mystery,  and 
no  more  than  the  aggregated  generations  of  the  past,  can  you 
find  any  solution." 

Cornelia  shook  her  head,  and  leaned  bock  in  her  chair. 

"  Philosophy  promises  one,"  replied  Beulah,  resolutely. 

"  Philosophy  ?  take  care  ;  that  hidden  rock  stranded  mo 
Listen  to  me  :  philosophy,  or,  what  is  now-a-day  its  synonym, 
metaphysical  systems,  are  worse  than  useless.  They  will  make 
jou  doubt  your  own  individual  existence,  if  that  be  possible.  I 
am  older  than  you  ;  I  am  a  sample  of  the  efficacy  of  such  sys- 
tems. Oh,  the  so  called  philosophers  of  this  century  and  the 
last  are  crowned-heads  of  humbugry  !  Adepts  in  the  famotu 
wt  af 


B  E  TT  L  A  H  .  379 

"  '  Wrapping  nonsense  round, 

With  pomp  and  darkness,  till  it  seems  profound.' 


They  mock  earnest,  inquiring  minds  with  their  refined  ir.finitesi 
mal,  homoeopathic  '  developments' of  deity;  metaphysical  wobel 
hi  Socratic  cloaks.  Oh,  they  have  much  to  answer  for  !  '  Spr'.ng 
of  philosophy  !'  ha  I  ha  1  they  have  made  a  frog-pond  of  it,  in 
waich  to  launch  their  flimsy,  painted  toy-barks.  Have  done  with 
them,  Beulah.  or  you  will  be  miserably  duped." 

"  Have  you  lost  faith  in  Emerson  and  Theodore  Parker  f 
asked  Beulah. 

"Yes,  lost  faith  in  everything  and  everybody,  except  Mrs, 
Asbury  Emerson's  atheistic  fatalism  is  enough  to  unhinge 
human  reason  ;  he  is  a  great,  and  I  believe  an  honest  thinker, 
and  of  his  genius  I  have  the  profoundest  admiration.  An  intel- 
lectual Titan,  he  wages  a  desperate  war  with  received  creeds, 
and  rising  on  the  ruins  of  systems,  struggles  to  scale  the  battle- 
Enents  of  truth.  As  for  Parker,  a  careful  perusal  of  his  works 
was  enough  to  disgust  me.  But  no  more  of  this,  Beulah — so 
iong  as  you  have  found  nothing  to  rest  upon.  I  had  hoped  much 
from  your  earnest  search,  but  since  it  has  been  futile,  let  the 
subject  drop.  Give  me  that  glass  of  medicine.  Dr.  Hartwell 
was  here,  just  before  you  came  ;  he  is  morose  and  haggard ; 
what  ails  him  ?" 

"  I  really  don't  know.  I  have  not  seen  him  for  several  months 
— not  since  August,  I  believe." 

"  So  I  supposed,  as  I  questioned  him  about  you  ;  and  he  ( 
seemed  ignorant  of  your  movements.     Benlah,  does  not  life  look 
dreary  and  tedious  when  you  anticipate  years  of  labor  and  care  ! 
Teaching  is  not  child's  sport ;  are  you  not  already  weary  ir 
rpirit  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  not  weary;  neither  does  life  seem  joyless.    I  knew 
that  I  shall  have  to  labor  for  a  support,  but  necessity  always 
supplies  strength.     I  have  many,  very  many  sources  of  happi   ' 
o«ss,  and  look  forward,  hopefully,  to  a  life  of  usefulness  " 


380  BEULAH. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  teach  all  your  days  ?  Are  you  going  w 
Wear  out  your  life  over  primers  and  slates  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so.  I  know  not  how  else  I  shall  more  easilj  earn  a 
,  subsistence." 

"  I  trust  you  will  marry,  and  be  exempted  from  that  Idl 
fcedious  routine,"  said  Cornelia,  watching  her  countenance. 

Bculah  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"  That  is  a  mode  of  exemption  so  extremely  remote  that  1 
never  consider  it.  I  do  not  find  teaching  so  disagreeable  as  yon 
imagine,  and  dare  say,  at  fifty  (if  I  live  that  long),  I  shall  still 
be  io  a  schoolroom.  Remember  the  trite  line — 

"  'I  dreamed  and  thought  that  life  wag  beauty: 
I  woke,  and  found  that  life  was  duty.' 

\  Labor,  mental  and  physical,  is  the  heritage  of  humanity,  and 
!  happiness  is  inseparably  bound  np  with  the  discharge  of  duty. 
It  is  a  divine  decree  that  all  should  work,  and  a  compliance  with 
that  decree  insures  a  proper  development  of  the  moral,  intellec- 
tual and  physical  nature." 

"  You  are  brave,  Beulab,  and  have  more  of  hope  in  your 
nature  than  I.  For  twenty-three  years,  I  have  been  a  petted 
child,  but  life  has  given  me  little  enjoyment.  Often  have  I  asked, 
why  was  I  created  ?  for  what  am  I  destined  ?  I  have  been  like 
a  gilded  bubble,  tossed  about  by  every  breath  1  Oh,  Beulah  1 
often,  in  the  desolation  of  my  heart,  I  have  recalled  that  grim 
passage  of  Pollok's,  and  thought  that  verily  I  was  that 


• "  '  Atom  which  God 

Had  nitde  superfluously,  and  needed  not 
To  buiid  creation  with  ;  but  back  again 
To  nothing  threw,  and  left  it  in  the  void, 
With  everlasting  sense,  that  once  it  wast' 

Mv  life  has  not  been  useful,  it  has  been  but  joyless,  and  clctuled 
frith  the  shadow  of  death  from  my  childhood." 
Her  voice  was  broken,  and  tears  trickled  over  her  emaciated 


BEULAH.  381 

face.  She  put  up  her  thin  hand  and  brushed  them  away,  as  if 
ashamed  of  her  emotion. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  if  I  could  only  live,  and  be  strong,  7 
would  make  myself  useful-  in  the  world — would  try  to  be  less 
Belfish  and  exacting  ;  but  all  regrets  are  vain,  and  the  indulged 
child  of  luxury  must  take  her  place  in  the  pale  realms  of  death, 
along  with  the  poverty-stricken  and  laboring.  Beulah,  I  was  in 
pain  last  night,  and  could  not  sleep,  and  for  hours  I  seemed  to 
hear  the  words  of  that  horrible  vision  :  '  And  he  saw  how  world 
after  world  shook  off  its  glimmering  souls  upon  the  sea  of  Death, 
as  a  water-bubble  scatters  swimming  lights  on  the  waves.'  Oh  ! 
uiy  mind  is  clouded  and  my  heart  hopeless ;  it  is  dismal  to  stand 
alone  as  I  do,  and  confront  the  final  issue,  without  belief  in  any- 
thing. Sometimes,  when  the  paroxysms  are  severe  and  pi'o« 
longed,  I  grow  impatient  of  the  tedious  delay,  and  would  spring, 
open-armed,  to  meet  Death,  the  deliverer." 

Beulah  was  deeply  moved,  and  answered,  with  a  faltering 
reice  and  trembling  lip  : 

"  I  wish  I  could  comfort  and  cheer  you,  but  I  cannot — I  can- 
not !  If  the  hand  of  disease  placed  me  to-day  on  the  brink 
beside  you,  I  should  be  as  hopeless  as  you.  Oh,  Cornelia  !  it 
makes  my  heart  ache  to  look  at  you  now,  and  I  would  give  my 
life  to  be  able  to  stand  where  you  do,  with  a  calm  trust  in  the 
God  of  Israel  ;  but " 

"  Then,  be  warned  by  my  example.  In  many  respects  we 
resemble  each  other;  our  pursuits  have  been  similar.  Beulah,  do 
not  follow  me  to  the  end  !  Take  my  word  for  it,  all  is  dark  and 
grim." 

She  sank  back,  too  much  exhausted  to  continue  the  conversa- 
tion, and  Beulah  rose  to  go. 

"  Can't  you  stay  with  me  ?"  said  the  feeble  girl. 

11  No,  my  companionship  is  no  benefit  to  you  now.  If  I  could 
help  you,  1  would  not  leave  you  at  all." 

She  pressed  her  lips  to  the  forehead  furrowed  by  suffering,  and 
fastened  away, 


382  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

It  was  dusk  when  she  reached  home,  and  passing  the  dinii.g- 
room,  where  the  tea-table  awaited  her  arrival,  she  sought  her  own 
apartment.  A  cheerful  fire  blazed  in  welcome,  bot  just  now  all 
things  were  sombre  to  her  vision,  and  she  threw  herself  into  a 
chair  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Like  a  haunting 
spectre,  Cornelia's  haggard  countenance  pursued  her,  and  a  dull 
foreboding  pointed  to  a  coming  season  when  she,  too,  would  quit 
earth  in  hopeless  uncertainty.  She  thought  of  her  guardian  and 
his  skeptical  misanthropy.  He  had  explored  every  by-path  of 
speculation,  and  after  years  of  study  aud  investigation,  had 
give-n  up  in  despair,  and  settled  down  into  a  refined  pantheism. 
Could  she  hope  to  succeed  better  ?  Was  her  intellect  so  vastly 
superior  to  those  who  for  thousands  of  years  had  puzzled  by 
midnight  lamps  over  these  identical  questions  of  origin  aud  des- 
tiny ?  What  was  the  speculation  of  all  ages,  from  Thales  to 
Comtc,  to  the  dying  girl  she  had  just  left  ?  Poor  Beulah  !  for 
the  first  time  her  courage  forsook  her,  and  bitter  tears  gushed 
over  her  white  cheeks.  There  was  no  stony  bitterness  in  her 
face,  but  an  uulifting  shadow  that  mutely  revealed  the  unnum- 
bered hours  of  strife  and  desolation  which  were  slowly  bowing 
that  brave  heart  to  the  dust.  She  shuddered,  as  now,  in  self- . 
communion,  she  felt  that  atheism,  grim  and  murderous,  stood  at 
the  entrance  of  her  soul,  and  threw  its  benumbing  shadow  into 
the  inmost  recesses.  Unbelief  hung  its  murky  vapors  about  her 
heart,  curtaining  it  from  the  sunshine  of  God's  smile.  It  waa 
not  difficult  to  trace  her  gradual  progress,  if  so  she  might  term 
her  unsatisfactory  journey.  Rejecting  literal  revelation,  she  waa 
perplexed  to  draw  the  exact  line  of  deraarkatiou  between  mytha 
aud  realities  ;  then  followed  doubts  as  to  the  necessity,  and 
finally,  as  to  the  probability  and  possibility  of  an  external, 
verbal  revelation.  A  revealed  code,  or  system,  was  autagotistic 
to  the  doctrines  of  rationalism  ;  her  own  consciousness  must 
Burnish  the  necessary  data.  But  how  far  was  "  individualism  '• 
allowable  ?  Aud  here  the  hydra  of  speculation  reared  its  horrid 
head  ;  if  consciousness  alone  furnished  truth,  it  was  but  true  foi 


BEULAH.  S8X 

aer,  true  according  to  the  formation  of  her  mind,  but  not  abso- 
lutely true.  Admit  the  supremacy  of  the  individual  reason,  and 
fche  could  not  deny  "  that  the  individual  mind  is  the  generating 
principle  of  all  human  knowledge  ;  that  the  soul  of  man  is  likt 
the  silkworm,  which  weaves  its  universe  out  of  its  own  bring  $ 
ihat  the  whole  mass  of  knowledge,  to  which  we  can  ever  attain, 
lies  potentially  within  us  from  the  beginning  ;  that  all  truth  ia  £l 
nothing  more  than  a  self-development." 

She  became  entangled  in  the  finely-spun  webs  of  ontology, 
and  knew  not  what  she  believed.  Her  guardian's  words  rang  in 
Ler  ears  like  a  knell.  "You  must  accept  either  utter  skepticism, 
or  absolute,  consistent  pantheism." 

A  volume,  which  she  had  been  reading  the  night  before, 
lay  on  the  table,  and  she  opened  it  at  the  following  passage  : 

"  Every  b«ing  is  sufficient  to    self  ,  that  is,  every  being  is,  in 
and  by  itself,  infinite:  has  its  God,  its  highest  conceivable  being, 
in  iteclf.     The  object  of  any  subject  is  nothing  else  than  the 
subject's  own  nature  taken  objectively.     Such  as  are  a  man's        > 
thoughts  and  dispositions,  such  is  his  God  I     Conscbusuess  of     / 
God,  is  self-consciousness  ;  by  his  God,  you  know  the  man,  and  \s' 
by  the  man,   his   God  :    the  two  are   identical !      Keligion   ia 
merely  the  consciousness    which   a  man  has  of   his   own,  not 
limiied,    but    infinite   nature ;    it   is    an    early    form    of   self- 
knowledge.       God    is    the    objective    nature    of    ine    under- 
standing." 

Thus  much  Feuerbach  offered  her.  She  put  down  the  book, 
»nd  leaned  herHEead  wearily  on  her  hands.  A  light  touch  on 
her  arm  caused  her  to  glance  up,  and  Mrs.  Williams'  anxiou* 
Vie  looked  down  at  her. 

'  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Beulah  ?     Are  you  sick  ?w 

''  No,  i  am  as  well  as  usual."     She  hastily  averted  her  head. 

"  But  something  troubles  you,  child  I" 

"  Yes,  a  great  many  things  trouble  me  ;  but  I  am  used  U 
troubles,  you  know,  and  can  cope  with  ihein  uuaideu.r 

"  Wont  voo  tell  me  what  they  are,  Beulah  ?" 


884  BEULAE. 

"  You  cannot  help  me,  or  I  would.  One  cause  of  sorrow 
however,  is  the  approaching  death  of  a  friend,  whom  I  sbali 
miss  and  mourn.  Cornelia  Graham  cannot  live  much  longer.  J 
taw  her  this  evening,  and  found  her  sadly  altered." 

"  She  is  young  to  die,"  said  the  matron,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Yes,  only  twenty-three." 

"  Perhaps  her  death  will  be  the  means  of  reclaiming  my  pool 
fc/y." 

Beniah  shook  her  head,  and  Mrs.  Williams  added  : 

"  She  has  lived  only  for  this  world  and  its  pleasures.  Is  she 
afraid  of  the  world  to  come  ?  Can  she  die  peacefully  ?" 

"She  will  die  calmly,  but  not  hopefully.  She  does  not  believe 
in  Christianity." 

She  relt  that  the  matron  was  searching  her  countenance,  and 
was  not  surprised  when  she  said,  faltcringly  : 

"  Neither  do  you  believe  in  it.  Oh,  Beulah  !  I  have  known  it 
since  you  came  to  reside  under  the  same  roof  with  me,  and  I 
have  wept  and  prayed  over  you  almost  as  much  as  over  Eugene. 
When  Sabbath  after  Sabbath  passed,  and  you  absented  yourself 
from  church,  I  knew  something  was  wrong.  Beulah,  who  has 
taught  you  infidelity  ?  Oh,  it  would  have  been  better  that  you 
too  had  followed  Lilly,  in  the  early  days  when  you  were  pure  in 
heart  I  Much  as  I  love  you,  I  would  rather  weep  over  your 
grave,  than  know  you  had  lived  to  forget  God." 

Beulah  made  no  reply,  ai.d  passing  her  hands  tenderly  over 
the  girl's  head,  she  continued  : 

"  When  you  came  to  me,  a  little  child,  I  taught  you  your 
nnrning  and  evening  prayers.  Oh,  Beulah  1  Beulah  1  now  you 
lay  down  to  sleep  without  a,  thought  of  prayer.  My  child,  what 
is  t(  -  become  of  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  But  do  not  be  distressed  about  me  ;  I  am 
fjfiijg  to  do  my  duty  just  as  conscientiously  as  though  I  went  to 
cburch." 

"  Don't  deceive  yourself,  dear  child.  If  you  cease  to  pray  and 
read  your  Bible,  how  are  you  to  know  what  your  duty  is  ?  How 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  885 

are  you  to  keep  yourself  '  pure  and  unspotted  from  the  world  T 
Beulah,  a  man  without  religion  is  to  be  pitied  ;  but,  oh  !  a  God- 
less woman  is  a  horror  above  all  things.  It  is  no  marvel  yon 
look  st>  anxious  and  hollow-eyed.  You  have  forsaken  the  '  ways 
Off  pleasantness,  and  the  paths  of  peace.' " 

"  I  am  responsible  to  no  one  for  my  opinions." 

"Yes,  you  are  ;  responsible  to  God,  for  he  has  given  truth  tt 
tLe  world,  and  when  you  shut  your  eyes,  and  wfllingly  walk  in 
darkness,  he  will  judge  you  accordingly.  If  you  had  lived  in  an 
Indian  jungle,  out  of  hearing  of  Gospel  truth,  then  God  would 
not  have  expected  anything  but  idolatry  from  you  ;  but  you  live 
in  a  Christian  land  ;  in  the  land  of  bibles,  and  'to  whom  much 
is  given,  much  will  be  expected.'  The  people  of  this  generation 
are  running  after  new  doctrines,  and  overtake  much  error. 
Beulah,  since  I  have  seen  you,  sitting  up,  nearly  all  night,  poring 
over  books  that  rail  at  Jesus  and  his  doctrines,  I  have  repented 
the  hour  I  first  suggested  your  educating  yourself  to  teach.  If 
this  is  what  all  your  learning  has  brought  you  to.  it  would  have 
been  better  if  you  had  been  put  out  to  learn  millinery  or  rnantua- 
making.  Oh,  my  child,  you  have  been  my  greatest  pride,  but 
now  you  are  a  grief  to  me  1" 

She  took  Beulah's  hand  in  hers,  and  pressed  her  lips  to  it, 
while  the  tears  fell  thick  and  fast.  The  orphan  was  not  un- 
moved ;  her  lashes  were  heavy  with  unshed  drops,  but  she  said 
nothing. 

"  Beulah;  I  am  fifty-five  years  old  ;  I  have  seen  a  great  deal 
of  the  world,  and  I  tell  you,  I  have  never  yet  known  a  happy 
roan  or  woman,  who  did  not  reverence  God  and  religion.  I  can 
see  that  you  are  not  happy  ;  child,  you  never  will  be,  so  long  ar 
_you  wander  away  from  God.  I  pray  for  you,  but  you  must  alsf 
pray  for  yourself.  May  God  help  you,  my  dear  child." 

Sh3  left  her,  knowing  her  nature  too  well  to  hope  to  con- 
vince her  of  her  error. 

Beulah  jeraained  for  some  time  in  the  same  position,  witn  her 
eyes  fixed  on  tho  fire,  and  her  forehead  ploughed  by  torturing 

a 


386  BEULAH. 

thought.  The  striking  of  the  clock  roused  her  from  her  reverie 
and  drawing  a  chair  near  her  desk,  she  took  up  her  pen  to  com 
plete  an  article  due  the  next  day  at  the  magazine  office.  Ah, 
how  little  the  readers  dreamed  of  the  heavy  heart,  that  put 
aside  its  troubles  to  labor  for  their  amusement.  To-night  she 
did  not  succeed  as  well  as  usual  ;  her  manuscript  was  blurred, 
and  forced  to  copy  the  greater  part  of  it,  the  clock  struck  three 
before  she  laid  her  weary  head  on  her  pillow 


CHAPTER    XXX 

MR.  GRAHAM  sat  by  his  daughter's  bed,  with  his  elbow  resting 
on  her  pillow,  and  his  head  drooped  on  his  hand.  It  was  noon, 
and  sunshine  sparkled  out  of  doors,  but  here  the  heavy  curtains 
swept  across  the  windows,  and  cast  a  lurid  light  over  the  sick 
room.  His  heart  ached,  as  he  looked  upon  the  wreck  of  his 
once  brilliant  and  beautiful  child,  and  he  shaded  his  face  to  con- 
ceal the  tears  which  stole  down  his  furrowed  cheeks.  The  rest- 
less sufferer  threw  up  her  arms  over  the  pillow,  and  turning 
toward  him,  said  in  a  voice  sharpened  by  disease  : 

"  Has  mother  gone  ?     I  want  to  say  something  to  you." 
"  "We  are  alone,  my  child  ;  speak  to  me  freely." 
"There  are  a  few  things  I  wish  to  have  arranged,  and  0.7 
time  is  short.     You  have  never  refused  me  any  gratification  1 
desired,  and  I  know  you  will  grant  my  last  request.     Father,  if 
I  were  a  bride  to-day,  what  would  bo  my  portion  of  the  estate) 
How  much  would  you  give  mo  ?" 

'  I  would  give  every  cent  I  possess,  to  purchase  you  a  life  cf 
happiness." 

"  You  do  not  understand  me.  I  have  always  been  considered 
•n  heiress,  and  I  want  to  know  how  much  I  would  be  entitled 


BKULAH.  387 

to,  if  I  ehouid  live  ?  Of  coarse  Eugene  has  an  equal  share  ; 
how  much  is  it  ?" 

"  About  eighty  thousand  dollars  apiece,  I  suppose,  leaving  a* 
reach  for  your  mother.  Why  do  you  ask,  my  daughter  ?" 

"Eighty  thousand  dollars.  How  much  good  might  be  doiuj 
wh,h  it,  if  judiciously  distributed  and  invested  ?  Father,  I  shall 
not  live  to  squander  it  in  frivolous  amusements,  or  superfluous 
luxuries.  Are  you  willing  that  I  should  dispose  of  a  portion  of 
it  before  my  death  ?" 

"Yes,  Cornelia,  if  it  will  afford  you  any  gratification.  M} 
poor  afflicted  child  :  how  can  I  deny  you  anything  you  c'hoosa 
to  ask  1" 

She  put  up  one  arm  around  his  neck,  and  drawing  his  head 
close  to  her,  said  earnestly  : 

"  I  only  wish  to  use  a  part  of  it.  Father,  I  want  to  leave 
Beulah  about  five  thousand  dollars.  That  sum  will  enable  her 
to  live  more  comfortably,  and  labor  less,  and  I  should  like  to 
feel,  before  I  die,  that  I  had  been  the  means  of  assisting  her. 
Will  you  invest  that  amount  in  stocks  for  her,  or  pay  the  money 
into  her  own  hands  ?  Will  you  see  that  it  is  arranged  so,  that 
she  will  certainly  receive  it,  no  matter  what  happens  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  promise  you,  that  she  shall  have  five  thousand  dollars, 
to  dispose  of  as  she  thinks  proper." 

"  She  is  proud,  and  will  not  receive  it  willingly  ;  but  you  must 
arrange  it,  so  that  she  will  be  benefited  by  it.  Father,  cat! 
you  do  this  for  me  ?" 

"Yes,  without  difficulty,  I  think." 

"  Let  it  be  kept  secret,  will  you  ?" 

'•'  Kcst  assured  it  shall  have  no  unnecessary  publicity." 

"  See  that  it  is  conveyed  to  her  so  securely,  that  no  quibble* 
fci  law  can  wrest  it  from  her  at  any  future  day,  for  noue  of  as 
knows  what  may  happen." 

"  I  promise  you  she  shall  have  it,  if  I  live  twelve  houn 
.onger." 

"  Then.  I  want  fire  thousand  more  giver  to  the  Orphan  Asylum 


388  BEULAH. 

Give  it  in  your  own  name.  You  only  have  the  right  to  give 
Don't  have  my  name  mentioned  in  the  matter.  Will  you  promise 
me  this,  also  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  shall  all  be  done.     IB  there  anything  else  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  that  is  all  as  regards  money  matters.  Raise  mj 
pillow  a  little  ;  there,  that  will  do.  Father,  can't  you  do  some- 
thing  to  save  Eugene  ?  You  must  see  now  how  reckless  he  is 
growing." 

"  Recently  I  have  expostulated  with  him,  and  he  seemed  dis- 
posed to  reform  his  habits.  Acknowledged  that  his  associations 
had  been  injurious,  and  regretted  the  excesses  into  which  he  had 
been  led.  He  has  been  rather  wild  since  he  canle  from  college, 
but  I  think,  now  he  is  married,  he  will  sober  down.  That  is  one 
veason  why  I  encouraged  his  marrying  so  early.  Intemperance 
is  his  only  fault,  and  I  trust  his  good  sense  will  soon  lead  him  to 
correct  it."  A  smothered  sigh  concluded  the  sentence. 

"  Father,  Antoinette  is  not  the  woman  to  reform  him.  Don't 
trust  to  her  influence  ;  if  you  do,  Eugene  will  be  ruined.  Watch 
over  him  closely  yourself ;  try  to  win  him  away  from  the  haunts 
of  dissipation  ;  I  tell  you  now  his  wife  will  never  do  it.  She  has 
duped  you  and  my  mother  as  to  her  character,  but  you  will  find 
that  she  is  as  utterly  heartless  as  her  own  mother  was.  I  always 
opposed  the  match,  because  I  probed  her  mask  of  dissimulation, 
and  knew  Eugene  could  not  be  happy  with  her.  But  the  mis- 
take is  irretrievable,  and  it  only  remains  for  you  to  watch  him 
the  more  carefully.  Lift  me,  father,  I  can't  breath's  easily. 
There  is  the  doctor  on  the  steps  ;  I  am  too  tired  to  talk  any 
oaore  to-day." 

*          *          *          *          *          *        .  *  * 

One  week  later,  as  Beulah  was  spending  her  Sabbath  evening 
In  her  own  apartment,  she  was  summoned  to  see  her  friend  for 
ihe  last  time.  It  was  twilight  when  she  reached  Mr.  Graham's 
house  and  glided  noiselessly  up  the  thickly-carpeted  stairway. 
The  bells  were  all  muffled,  and  a  solemn  stillness  reigned  over  th« 
mansion.  She  left  her  bonnet  and  shawl  in  the  hall,  and  softly 


B  E  U  L  A  B  38fc 

entered  the  chamber  unannounced.  Unable  to  breathe  in  a 
norizoaral  position,  Cornelia  was  bolstered  up  in  her  easy-chair, 
Her  mother  sat  near  her,  with  her  face  hid  on  her  husband's 
bosom.  Dr.  Hartwell  leaned  against  the  mantel,  and  Eugene 
stood  on  the  hearth  opposite  him,  with  his  head  bowed  down  OB 
bis  hands.  Cornelia  drew  her  breath  in  quick  gasps,  and  cold 
drops  glistened  on  her  pallid  face.  Her  sunken  eyes  wandered 
over  the  group,  and  when  Beulah  drew  near  she  extended  her 
hands  eagerly,  while  a  shadowy  smile  passed  swiftly  over  he* 
sharpened  features. 

"  Beulah,  come  close  to  me — close."  She  grasped  her  hand/ 
tightly,  and  Beulah  knelt  at  the  side  of  her  chair. 

"  Beulah,  in  a  little  while  I  shall  be  at  rest.  You  will  rejoice 
to  see  me  free  from  pain,  won't  you  ?  I  have  suffered  for  so  many 
months  aud  years.  But  death  is  about  to  release  me  forever. 
Beulah,  is  it  forever  ? — is  it  forever  ?  Am  I  going  down  into  an 
eternal  sleep,  on  a  marble  couch,  where  grass  and  flowers  will 
wave  over  me,  and  the  sun  shine  down  on  me  ?  Yes,  it  must  be 
so.  Who  has  ever  waked  from  this  last  dreamless  slumber? 
Abel  was  the  first  to  fall  asleep,  and  since  then,  who  has  wak- 
ened ?  No  one.  Earth  is  full  of  pale  sleepers  ;  and  I  am  soon 
to  join  the  silent  band." 

There  was  a  flickering  light  in  her  eyes,  like  the  flame  of  a 
candle  low  in  its  socket,  and  her  panting  breath  was  painful  to 
listen  to. 

"  Cornelia,  they  say  Jesus  of  Nazareth  slept,  and  woke  again; 
if  so,  you  wiH  " 

"  Ha,  but  you  don't  believe  that,  Beulah.  They  say,  the} 
eay  !  Ye"s,  but  I  never  believed  them  before,  and  I  don't  want 
to  believe  them  now.  I  will  not  believe  it.  It  is  too  late  to  tel 
me  that  now.  Beulah,  I  shall  know  very  soon  ;  the  veil  of  mys 
tery  is  being  lifted.  Oh,  Beulah,  I  am  glad  I  am  going  ;  glad  I 
Bhall  soon  have  no  more  sorrow  and  pain  ;  but  it  is  all  dark 
dark  !  You  know  what  I  mean.  Don't  live  as  I  have,  believing 
nothing.  No  matter  what  yonr  creed  may  be,  hold  fast,  hav< 


390  B  E  U  I.  A  H  . 

firm  faith  in  it.  It  is  because  I  believe  in  nothing,  that  I  anr  s« 
clouded  now.  Oh,  it  is  such  a  dark,  dark,  lonely  n  ay  !  If  I  had 
a  friend  to  go  with  me,  I  should  not  shrink  back,  but  oh,  Beulah, 
I  am  so  solitary  \  It  seems  to  me  I  am  going  ont  into  a  great 
starless  midnight."  She  shivered,  and  her  cold  fingers  clutched 
Bculah's  convulsively. 

"  Calm  yourself,  Cornelia.  If  Christianity  is  true,  God  will  see 
that  you  were  honest  in  your  skepticism,  and  judge  you  leniently. 
If  not,  then,  death  is  annihilation,  and  you  hove  nothing  to 
dread  ;  you  will  sink  into  quiet  oblivion  of  ail  your  griefs." 

"  Annihilation  1  then  I  shall  see  you  all  no  more  !  Oh,  why 
was  I  ever  created,  to  love  others,  and  then  be  torn  away  for- 
evei,  and  go  back  to  senseless  dust  ?  I  never  have  been  happy; 
I  have  always  had  aspirations  after  purer,  higher  enjoyments 
than  earth  could  afford  me,  and  must  they  be  lost  in  dead  clay  ? 
Oh,  Beulah,  can  you  give  me  no  comfort  but  this  ?  Is  this  the 
Bum  of  all  your  study,  as  well  as  mine  ?  Ah,  it  is  vain,  useless  ; 
mau  can  find  out  nothing.  We  are  all  blind  ;  groping  our  way 
through  mysterious  paths,  and  now  I  am  going  into  the  last— 
the  great  mystery  1" 

She  shook  her  head,  with  a  bitter  smile,  and  closed  her  eyes, 
as  if  to  shut  out  some  hideous  spectre.  Dr.  Hartwell  gave  her  a 
spoonful  of  some  powerful  medicine,  and  stood  watching  her  face, 
distorted  by  the  difficulty  of  breathing.  A  long  silence  ensued, 
broken  only  by  the  sobs  of  the  parents.  Cornelia  lenned  back, 
with  closed  eyes,  and  now  and  then  her  lips  moved,  but  uoth'up 
hitelligibla  escaped  them.  It  was  surprising  how  she  seemed  to 
rally,  son  etimes,  and  breathe  with  perfect  ease  ;  then  the 
paroxysms  would  come  on  more  violent  than  ever.  Beulah  knelt 
on  (he  floor,  with  her  forehead  resting  on  the  arm  of  the  chair 
and  her  Lands  still  grasped  in  the  firm  hold  of  the  dying  girl 
Tuna  seejaed  to  stand  still,  to  watch 'the  issue,  for  moments  were 
long  as  Lours  to  the  few  friends  of  the  sufferer.  Beulah  felt  as 
if  her  h^art  were  leaden,  and  a  band  of  burning  iron  seemed 
Irawn  about  her  brow.  Was  this  painful  parting  to  be  indeed 


B  E  U  L  A.  H  .  391 

eternal  ?  Was  there  no  future  home  for  the  dead  of  this  world  ? 
Should  the  bands  of  love  and  friendship,  thus  rudely  severed,  be 
renewed  no  more  ?  Was  there  no  land  where  the  broken  links 
might  be  gathered  up  again  ?  What  did  philosophy  say  of  these 
grim  hours  of  struggle  and  separation  ?  Nothing — absolutely 
cothing  1  Was  she  to  see  her  sister  no  more  ?  Was  a  molded 
lug  mass  of  dust  all  that  remained  of  the  darling  dead — the  beau 
tiful  angel,  Lilly,  whom  she  had  so  idolized  ?  Oh  !  was  life, 
then,  a  great  mockery,  and  the  soul,  with  its  noble  aims  and 
mipulses,  but  a  delicate  machine  of  matter  ?  Her  brain  was  in  a 
wild,  maddening  whirl ;  she  could  not  weep  ;  her  eyes  were  dry 
and  burning.  Cornelia  moved  an  instant,  and  murmured,  audibly: 

"  '  For  here  we  have  no  continuing  city,  but  seek  one  to  come.' 
Ah  1  what  is  its  name  ?  that  '  continuing  city  1'  Necropolis  ?" 
Again  she  remained,  for  some  time,  speechless. 

Dr.  Hartwell  softly  wiped  away  the  glistening  drops  on  her 
brow,  and  opening  her  eyes,  she  looked  up  at  him  intently.  It 
was  an  imploring  gaze,  which  mutely  said  :  "  Can't  you  heip  me  ?" 
He  leaned  over,  and  answered  it,  sadly  enough  : 

"  Courage,  Cornelia  !  It  will  very  soon  be  over  now.  The 
worst  is  past,  my  friend." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  There  is  a  chill  creeping  over  me.  Where  is 
Eugene  ?" 

He  came  and  stood  near  her  ;  his  face  full  of  anguish,  which 
could  not  vent  itself  in  tears.  Her  features  became  convulsed  as 
she  looked  at  him  ;  a  wailing  cry  broke  from  her  lips  ;  and  ex- 
tending her  arms  toward  him,  she  said,  sobbingly  : 

"  Shall  I  see  you  no  more — no  more  ?  Oh,  Eugene,  my 
brother,  my  pride,  my  dearest  hope  1  whom  I  have  loved  bet- 
L:r  than  my  own  life,  are  we  now  parted  forever — forever  !" 

lie  laid  her  head  oa  his  bosom,  and  endeavored  to  soothe  her 
but  clinging  to  him,  she  said,  huskily  : 

"  Eugene,  with  my  last  breath  I  implore  you  ;  forsaKe  youi 
Intemperate  companions.  Shun  them  and  their  haunts.  Let  QM 
riU>,  feeling  that  at  least  my  dying  prayer  will  save  you  !  Oh 


#92  B  E  F  L  A  H. 

when  I  am  gone  ;  when  I  am  silent  in  the  graveyard,  reraembei 
how  the  thought  of  your  intemperance  tortured  me  !  Keinenr 
her  how  I  remonstrated,  and  entreated  you  not  to  ruin  yourself  I 
Remember  that  I  loved  you  above  everything  on  earth;  and  that. 
in  my  last  hour,  I  prayed  you  to  save  yourself  I  Oh,  Eugene,, 
for  my  sake  !  for  my  sake  1  quit  the  wine  cup,  and  leave  drunk 

enness  for  others  more  degraded  ! Promise  me  ! Where 

are  you  ? Oh,  it  is  all  cold  and  dark  ! *[  can't  see  you  I 

Eugene,  promise,  promise  1 Eugene  !"  - 

Her  'eyes  were  riveted  on  his,  and  her  lips  moved  for  somo 
records  ;  then  the  clasping  arms  gradually  relaxed  ;  the  gaspa 
ceased.  Eugene  felt  a  long  shudder  creep  over  the  limbs,  a  deep, 
heavy  sigh  passed  her  lips,  and  Cornelia  Graham's  soul  was  with 
its  God. 

Ah  !  after  twenty-three  years  of  hope  and  fear,  struggling  ana 
questioning,  what  an  exit.  Eugene  lifted  the  attenuated  form, 
and  placed  it  on  the  bed  ;  then  threw  himself  into  her  vacant 
chair,  and  sobbed  like  a  broken-hearted  child.  Mr.  Graham 
took  his  wife  from  the  room  ;  and  after  some  moments,  Dr. 
Hartwell  touched  the  kneeling  figure,  with  the  face  still  presspd 
against  the  chair  Eugene  now  occupied. 

"  Come,  Beulah,  she  will  want  you  no  more." 

She  lifted  a  countenance  so  full  of  woe,  that  as  he  looked  at 
her,  the  moisture  gathered  in  his  eyes,  and  he  put  his  hand  ten- 
derly on  her  head,  saying  : 

"  Come  with  me,  Beulah." 

1  And  this  is  death  ?  Oh,  my  God,  save  me  from  such  a 
death  \» 

She  clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  and  shivered  ;  then  rising 
from  her  kneeling  posture,  threw  herself  on  a  couch,  and  buried 
her  face  in  its  cushions.  That  long  night  of  self-communion  wa* 
never  forgotten. 

******** 

The  day  of  the  funeral  was  cold,  dark  and  dismal.  A  January 
trind  howled  through  the  streets,  and  occasional  drizzling  show 


BEULAH.  393 

rs  enhanced  the  gloom.  The  parlors  and.  sitting-room  were 
draped,  and  on  the  marble  slab  of  one  of  the  tables  stood  the 
coffin,  covered  with  a  velvet  pall.  Once  before,  Beulah  had 
entered  a  room  similarly  shrouded  ;  and  it  seemed  but  yesterday 
that  sh  3  stood  beside  Lilly's  rigid  form.  She  went  in  alone,  and 
waited  some  moments  near  the  coffin,  striving  to  calm  the  wild 
toluol*  of  conflicting  sorrows  in  her  oppressed  heart ;  then  lifted 
the  covering,  and  looked  on  the  sleeper.  Wan,  waxen  and 
silent.  No  longer  the  fitful  sleep  of  disease,  nor  the  refreshing 
slumber  of  health,  but  the  still  iciness  of  ruthless  death.  The 
black  locks  were  curled  around  the  forehead,  and  the  beautiful 
hands  folded  peacefully  over  the  heart  that  should  throb  no  more 
with  the  anguish  of  earth.  Death  had  smoothed  the  brow,  and 
put  the  trembling  mouth  at  rest,  and  every  feature  was  in  repose 
lu  life  she  had  never  looked  so  placidly  beautiful. 

"  What  availed  all  her  inquiries,  and  longings,  and  defiant 
cries  ?  She  died,  no  nearer  the  truth  than  when  she  began. 
She  died  without  hope,  and  without  knowledge.  Only  death 
could  unseal  the  mystery,"  thought  Beulah,  as  she  looked  at  the 
marble  face,  and  recalled  the  bitterness  of  its  life-long  expression. 
Persons  began  to  assemble  ;  gradually,  the  rooms  filled.  Beulah 
bent  down,  and  kissed  the  cold  lips  for  the  last  time,  and  lower 
ing  her  veil,  retired  to  a  dim  corner.  'She  was  very  miserable 
but  her  eyes  were  tearless,  and  she  sat,  she  knew  not  how  long 
unconscious  of  what  passed  around  her.  She  heard  the  stifled 
sobs  of  the  bereaved  parents,  as  in  a  painful  dream  ;  and  when 
Ihe  solemn  silence  was  broken,  she  started,  and  saw  a  venerable 
jian,  a  stranger,  standing  at  the  head  of  the  coffin  ;  and  these 
words  fell  upon  her  ears  like  a  messag*  from  another  world  : 

1  I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,"  saith  the  Lord  ;  "  and  he 
that  believcth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live  j 
and  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall  never  die  1" 

Cornelia  had  not  believed  ;   was  she  utterly  lost  ?     Beulah 
»sked  herself  this  question,  and  shrank  from  the  answer.     £hi 
iid  not  believe  :  would  she  dir  as  C  Amelia  died,  without  t»o» 
17* 


£04  BECLAH. 

fort?  "Was  there  but  one  salvation?  When  the  coffi.i  *ai 
borne  out,  and  the  procession  formed,  she  went  on  mechanically, 
and  found  herself  seated  in  a  carriage  with  Mrs.  Asbury  and  her 
two  daughters.  She  sank  back  in  one  corner,  and  the  long  lint 
of  carriages,  extending  for  many  squares,  slowly  wound  through 
he  streets.  The  wind  wailed  and  sobbed,  as  if  in  sympathy, 
ind  the  rain  drizzled  against  the  window  glass.  When  the  pro- 
cession reached  the  cemetery,  it  was  too  wet  to  think  of  leaving 
the  carriages,  but  Beulah  could  see  the  coffin  borne  from  the 
hearse,  and  heard  the  subdued  voice  of  the  minister  ;  and  wheti 
the  shrouded  form  of  the  only  child  was  lowered  into  its  final 
resting-place,  she  groaned,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 
"  Should  they  meet  no  more  ?"  Hitherto  Mrs.  Asbury  had  for- 
borne to  address  her,  but  now  she  passed  her  arm  round  the 
shuddering  form,  and  said,  gently  : 

"  My  dear  Beulah,  do  not  look  so  hopelessly  wretched.  In 
the  midst  of  life,  we  are  in  death  ;  but  God  has  given  a  promise 
to  cheer  us  all  in  sad  scenes  like  this.  St.  John  was  told  to 
write,  '  From  henceforth,  blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  tho 
Lord,  for  they  rest  from  their  labors.' " 

"  And  do  you  think  she  is  lost  forever,  because  she  did  not 
believe  ?  Do  you  f  Can  you  ?"  criud  Beulah,  vehemently. 

"  Beulah,  she  had  the  Bible,  which  promises  eternal  life.  Ir 
she  entirely  rejected  it,  she  did  so  voluntarily  and  deliberately  ; 
but  only  God  knows  the  heart — only  her  Maker  can  judge  her. 
I  trust  that  even  in  the  last  hour,  the  mists  rolled  from  her 
mind." 

Beulah  knew  better,  but  said  nothing  ;  it  was  enough  to  have 
witnessed  that  darkened  soul's  last  hour  on  earth.  As  the  car- 
riage stopped  at  her  door,  Mrs.  Asbury  said  : 

"My  dear  Beulah,  stay  with  me  to-night.  I  think  I  can  help 
you  to  find  what  you  are  seeking  so  earnestly." 

Beulah  shrank  back,  and  answered  : 

"  No,  no.  No  one  can  help  me  ;  I  must  help  myself,  Soiut 
other  time  I  will  come." 


BKULAH.  895 

The  raiu  fell  heavily  as  she  reached  her  own  home,  and  she 
went  to  her  room  with  a  heaviness  of  heart  almost  unendurable. 
She  sat  down  on  the  rug  before  the  fire,  and  threw  her  arme  up 
over  a  chair,  as  she  was  wont  to  do  in  childhood,  and  as  Bhe 
remembered  that  the  winter  rain  now  beat  pitilessly  on  the  grave 
of  one  who  had  never  known  privation,  nor  aught  of  grief  that 
wealth  could  shield  her  from,  she  moaned  bitterly.  What  lamr 
had  philosophy  hung  in  the  sable  chambers  of  the  tomb  ?  The 
soul  was  impotent  to  explain  its  origin — how,  then,  could  it  pos- 
sibly  read  the  riddle  of  final  destiny  ?  Psychologists  had  wran- 
gled for  ages  over  the  question  of  '  ideas.'  Were  infants  bom 
with  or  without  them  ?  Did  ideas  arise  or  develop  themselves 
independently  of  experience  ?  The  affirmation  or  denial  of  this 
proposition  alone  distinguished  the  numerous  schools,  which  had 
BO  long  wrestled  with  psychology;  and  if  this  were  insolvable, 
how  could  human  intellect  question  further  ?  Could  it  bridge 
the  gulf  of  Death,  and  explore  the  shores  of  Eternity  ? 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

TIME,  "  like  a  star,  unhasting,  yet  unresting,"  moved  on.  The 
keen  blasts  of  winter  were  gathered  back  in  their  northern 
storehouses,  and  the  mild  airs  of  spring  floated  dreamily  beneath 
genial  skies.  The  day  had  been  cloudless  and  balmy,  but  now 
the  long,  level  rays  of  sunshine,  darting  from  the  horizon,  told 
It  "  was  well-nigh  done  ;"  and  Beulah  sat  on  the  steps  of  her 
cottage  home,  and  watched  the  dolphin-like  death.  The  regal 
splendors  of  southern  springtime  were  on  every  side  ;  the  bright, 
fresh  green  of  the  grassy  common,  with  its  long,  velvety  slopes, 
where  the  sunshine  fell  slantingly;  the  wild  luxuriance  of  th« 
Cherokee  rose-hedges,  with  cheir  graceful  streamers  gleaming 


B96  BEULAH. 

with  the  snow-powder  of  blossoms ;    the  waving  of  new-bura 
i     foliage  ;  the  whir  and  chirping  of  birds,  as  they  sought  their 
leafy  shelters  ;  brilliant  patches  of  verbena,  like  flakes  of  rain 
bow,  in  the  neighboring  gardens  ;  and  the  faint,  sweet  odor  oi 
violet,  jasmin,  roses  and  honey-suckle,  burdening  the  air.    Btulah 
Bat  with  her  hands  folded  on  her  lap  ;  an  open  book  lay  beforf 
••'    her — a  volume  of  Ruskin  ;  but  the  eyes  had  wandered  away  from 
j  Iris  gorgeous  descriptions,  to  another  and  still  more  entrancing 
'  volume — the  glorious  page  of  Nature  ;  and  as  the  swift  southern 
twilight  gathered,  she  sat  looking  out,  mute  and  motionless. 
The  distant  pine-tops  sang  their  solemn,  soothing  lullaby,  and  a 
new   moon   sat   royally  in   the   soft  violet  sky.      Around   the 
columns  of  the  little  portico,  a  luxuriant  wisteria  clambered,  and 
long,   purple    blossoms,   with    their    spicy   fragrance,    drooped 
almost  on  Beulah's  head,  as  she  leaned  it  against  the  pillar. 
The  face  wore  a  weary,  suffering  look  ;  the  large,  restless  eyea 
were  sadder  than  ever,  and  there  were  tokens  of  languor  iu 
every  feature.     A  few  months  had  strangely  changed  the  cour 
cenauce,  once  so  hopeful  and  courageous  in  its  uplifted  expres- 
•   sion.      The  wasted  form    bore   evidence  of  physical  si'iTering, 
i   and  the  slender  fingers  were  like  those  of  a  marble  statue.    Yet 
she  had  never  missed  an  hour  in  t.he  schoolroom,  nor  omitted 
one  iota  of  the  usual  routine  of  mental  labor.     Rigorously  the 
tax  was  levied,  no  matter  how  the  weary  limbs  ached,  or  how 
painfully  the  head  throbbed  :  and  now  nature  rebelled  at  the 
unremitted  exaction," and  clamored  fora  reprieve.    Mrs.  Williams 
had  been  confined  to  her  room  for  many  days,  by  an  attack  of 
rheumatism,  and  the  time  devoted  to  her  was>  generally  reclaimed 
I'rom  sleep.     It  was  no  mystery  that  she  looked  ill  and  spent. 
Now,  as  she  sat  watching  the  silver  crescent  glittering  in   thf 
west,  her  thoughts  wandered  to  Clara  Sanders,  and  the  last  let- 
ter received  from  her,  telling  of  a  glorious  day-star  of  hope, 
rvhich  had  risen  in  her  cloudy  sky.     Mr.  Arlington's  brother  had 
taught  her  that  the  dream  of  her  girlhood  was  but  a  fleeting 
fancy,  that  she  could  love  again  more  truly  than  before,  and  lc 


B  E  D  L  A  H  .  391 

the  .-summer  holidays  she  was  to  give  him  her  hand,  and  receive 
his  name.  Beulah  rejoiced  in  her  friend's  happiness,  but  a  dim 
foreboding  arose,  lest,  as  in  Pauline's  case,  thorns  should  spring 
up  iu  paths  where  now  only  blossoms  were  visible.  Since  that 
letter,  so  full  of  complaint  and  sorrow,  no  tidings  had  come  from 
Pauline.  Many  months  had  elapsed,  and  Beulah  wondered  inor* 
and  more  at  the  prolonged  silence.  She  had  written  severa. 
times,  but  received  no  answer,  and  imagination  painted  a 
wretched  young  wife  in  that  distant  parsonage.  Early  in  spring, 
she  learned  from  Dr.  Asbury  that  Mr.  Lockhart  had  died  at  his 
plantation,  of  consumption,  and  she  conjectured  that  Mrs.  Lock- 
hart  must  be  with  her  daughter.  Beulah  half-rose,  then  leaned 
back  against  the  column,  sighed  involuntarily,  and  listened  to 
that  "still  small  voice  of  the  level  twilight 'behind  purple  hills." 
Mrs.  Williams  was  asleep,  but  the  tea-table  waited  for  her,  and 
in  her  own  room,  on  her  desk,  lay  an  unfinished  manuscript, 
which  was  due  the  editor  the  next  morning.  She  was  rigidly 
punctual  in  handing  in  her  contributions,  cost  her  what  it  might; 
yet  now  she  shrank  from  the  task  of  copying  and  punctuating, 
and  sat  awhile  longer,  with  the  gentle  southern  breeze  rippling 
over  her  hot  brow.  She  no  longer  wrote  incognito;  by  accident"! 
she  was  discovered  as  the  authoress  of  several  articles  com- 
mented upon  by  other  journals,  and  more  than  once  her  humble 
home  had  been  visited  by  some  of  the  leading  literati  of  the 
place.  Her  successful  career,  thus  far,  inflamed  the  ambition  . 
wnich  formed  so  powerful  an  element  in  her  mental  organization, 
and  a  longing  desire  for  Fame  took  possession  of  her  soul.  Early 
and  late  she  toiled  ;  one  article  was  scarcely  in  the  hands  of  the 
3omp3sitor,  ere  she  was  engaged  upon  another.  She  lived,  as  it 
yore,  in  a  perpetual  brain-fever,  and  her  physical  frame  suffered 
propcrtionably.  The  little  gate  opened  and  closed  with  a  creak- 
ing sound,  and  hearing  a  step  near  her,  Beulah  looked  up  and 
saw  her  guardian  before  her.  The  light  from  the  dining-room 
fell  on  his  face,  and  a  glance  showed  her  that,  although  it  wai 
pale  and  inflexible  as  ever/  something  of  more  than  ordinary 


698  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

interest  had  induced  this  visit.  He  hal  never  entered  that  gat« 
befon  ;  and  she  sprang  up,  and  held  out  both  hands  with  an 
eager  cry  : 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  am  so  g  ad  to  see  yon  once  more  !'•' 

He  took  her  hands  in  his,  and  looked  at  her  gravely ;  thec 
made  her  sit  down  again  on  the  step,  and  said  : 

"  I  suppose  you  would  have  died,  before  you  could  get  your 
eoment  to  send  for  me  ?  It  is  well  that  you  have  somebody  t< 
looh  after  you.  How  long  have  you  had  this  fever  ?" 

"  Fever  !  Why,  sir,  I  have  no  fever,"  she  replied,  with  some 
surprise. 

"  Oh,  child  !  are  you  trying  to  destroy  yourself  by  youi 
obstinacy  ?  If  so,  like  most  other  things  you  undertake,  I  sup- 
pose you  will  succeed." 

He  held  her  hands,  and  kept  his  finger  on  the  quick  bounding 
pulse.  Beulah  had  not  seen  him  since  the  night  of  Cornelia's 
death,  some  months  before,  and  conjectured  that  Dr.  Asbury 
had  told  him  she  was  not  looking  well. 

She  could  not  bear  the  steady,  searching  gaze  of  his  luminous 
eyes,  and  moving  restlessly,  said  : 

"Sir,  what  induces  you  to  suppose  that  I  am  sick  ?  I  have 
complained  of  indisposition  to  no  one." 

"  Of  course  you  have  not,  for  people  are  to  believe  that  you 
are  a  gutta-percha  automaton." 

She  fancied  his  tone  was  slightly  sneering  ;  but  his  counte 
oance  wore  the  expression  of  anxious,  protecting  interest,  which 
she  had  so  prized  in  days  past,  and  as  her  hands  trembled  in 
his  clasp,  and  his  firm  hold  tightened,  she  felt  that  it  was  useless 
to  attempt  to  conceal  the  truth  longer. 

"I  didn't  know  I  was  feverish,  but  for  some  time,  I  have 
daily  grown  weaker  ;  I  tremble  when  I  stand  or  walk,  and  an 
cot  able  to  sleep.  That  is  all." 

He  smiled  down  at  her  earnest  face,  and  asked : 

"  Is  that  all,  child  ?     Is  that  all  P 

"Yes,  sir,  all." 


BEC7LAH.  390 

"And  here  you  have  been,  \vith  a  continued,  wastitg  nervous 
fever,  for  you  know  not  how  many  days,  yet  keep  on  your  round 
of  labors,  without  cessation  ?" 

He  dropped  her  hands,  and  folded  his  arms  across  his  broad 
chest,  keeping  his  eyes  upon  her. 

"I  am  not  at  all  ill ;  but  I  believe  I  need  some  medicine  «,« 
itrengthen  me." 

"Yes,  child  ;  you  do,  indeed,  need  a  medicine,  but  it  is  on* 
you  will  never  take." 

"  Try  me,  sir,"  answered  she,  smiling. 

''Try  you?  I  might  as  well  try  to  win  an  eagle  from  its 
Jone'y  rocky  home.  Beulah,  you  need  rest.  Rest  for  mind, 
body  and  heart.  But  you  will  not  £ake  it  ;  oh,  no,  of  course 
you  won't  !" 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  brow,  and  swept  back  the  glossy 
chestnut  hair,  as  if  it  oppressed  him. 

"  I  would  willingly  take  it,  sir,  if  I  could ;  but  the  summer 
vacation  is  still  distant,  and,  besides,  my  engagements  oblige  me 
to  exert  myself.  It  is  a  necessity  with  me." 

"  Rather  say,  sheer  obstinacy,"  said  he,  sternly. 

"  You  are  severe,  sir,"  replied  Beulah,  lifting  her  head 
haughtily. 

"  No,  I  only  call  things  by  their  proper  names." 

"  Yery  well  ;  if  you  prefer  it,  then,  obstinacy  compels  me  just 
now  to  deny  myself  the  rest  you  prescribe." 

"  Yes,  rightly  spoken  ;  and  it  will  soon  compel  you  to  a  long 
rest,  in  the  quiet  place  where  Cornelia  waits  for  you.  You  are 
a  mere  shadow  now,  and  a  few  more  months  will  complete  your 
design.  I  have  blamed  myself  more  than  once,  that  I  did  not  ^ 
Buffer  you  to  die  with  Lilly,  as  you  certainly  would  have  done, 
had  I  not  tended  you  so  closely.  Your  death,  then,  would  have 
saved  me  much  care  and  sorrow,  and  you,  many  struggles." 

There  was  a  shadow  on  his  face,  and  his  voice  bad  the  deep 
musical  tone,  which  always  made  her  heart  thrill  Hei  ejelidi 
drooped,  as  she  said,  sadly: 


400  BEULAH. 

"You  are  unjust.  We  meet  rarely  enough,  hearen  knows 
Why  do  you  invariably  make  these  occasions  seasons  cf  up 
braiding  ;  of  taunts,  and  sneers.  Sir,  I  owe  you  my  life,  and 
more  than  rny  life,  and  never  can  I  forget  or  cancel  my  obllga 
ions  ;  but  are  you  no  longer  my  friend  ?" 

His  whole  face  lighted  up  ;  the  firm  mouth  trembled. 

"  No,  Beulah.     I  am  no  longer  your  friend." 

She  looked  up  at  him,  and  a  quiver  crept  across  her  lips 
She  had  never  seen  that  eager  expression  in  his  stern  face  before 
His  dark  fascinating  eyes  were  full  of  pleading  tenderness,  and 
as  she  drooped  her  head  on  her  lap,  she  knew  that  Clara  was 
right,  that  she  was  dearer  to  her  guardian  than  any  oue  else. 
A  half  smothered  groan  escaped  her,  and  there  was  a  short 
pause. 

Dr.  Hartwell  put  his  hands  gently  oa  her  bowed  head,  and 
lifted  the  face. 

"  Child,  does  it  surprise  you  ?" 

She  said  nothing,  and  leaning  her  head  against  him,  as  she 
had  often  done  years  before,  he  passed  his  hand  caressingly 
over  the  folds  of  hair,  and  added  : 

"You  call  me  your  guardian}  make  me  such.  I  can  mj 
longer  be  only  your  friend  ;  I  must  either  be  more,  or  henceforth 
a  stranger.  My  life  has  been  full  of  sorrow  and  bitterness,  but 
you  can  bring  sunlight  to  my  home  and  heart.  You  were  too 
'  proud  to  be  adopted.  Once  I  asked  you  to  be  my  child.  Ah  ! 
I  did  not  know  my  own  heart  then.  Oar  separation  during  the 
yellow  fever  season  first  taught  me  how  inexpressibly  dear  you 
were  to  me,  how  entirely  you  filled  ray  heart.  Now,  I  ask  you . 
U.to  be  my  wife  :  to  give  yourself  to  me.  Oh,  Beulah,  come 
jack  to  my  cheerless  home!  Rest  your  lonely  heart,  my  prouu 
fading." 

"  Impossible.  Do  not  ask  it.  I  cannot.  I  cannot,"  cried 
Beulah,  shuddering  violently. 

"  Why  not,  my  little  Beulah  ?" 

He  clasped  his  arm  around  her,  and  drew  her  close  to  him 


BEULAH.  401 

irltile  his  head  was  bent  so  low,  that  his  brown  hair  touched  hei 
cheek. 

"  Oh,  sir  I  would  rather  die!  I  should  be  miserable  as  your 
wife.  You  do  not  love  me,  sir ;  you  are  lonely,  and  miss  my 
prcsonce  in  your  bouse;  but  that  is  not  love,  and  marriage  would 
be  a  mockery.  You  would  despise  a  wife  who  was  such  only 
from  gratitude.  Do  not  ask  this  of  me ;  we  would  both  be 
wretched.  You  pity  my  loneliness  and  poverty,  and  I  reverence 
you;  nay,  more,  I  love  you,  sir,  as  my  best  friend;  I  love  you  as 
my  protector.  You  are  all  I  have  on  earth  to  look  to  for  sym 
pathy  and  guidance.  You  are  all  I  have,  but  I  cannot  marry 
you:  oh,  no,  no!  a  thousand  times,  no!"  She  shrank  away  from 
the  touch  of  his  lips  on  her  brow,  and  an  expression  of  hopeless 
suffering  settled  upon  her  face. 

He  withdrew  his  arm,  and  rose. 

"  Beulah,  I  have  seen  sun-lit  bubbles  gliding  swiftly  on  the 
besom  of  a  clear  brook,  and  casting  golde^  shadows  down  upon 
the  pebbly  bed.  Such  a  shadow  you  are  now  chasing;  ah,  child, 
the  shadow  of  a  gilded  bubble!  Panting  and  eager,  you  clutch 
at  it;  the  bubble  dances  on,  the  shadow  with  it;  and  Beulah, 
you  will  never,  never  grasp  it.  Ambition  such  as  yours,  which 
aims  at  literary  fame,  is  the  deadliest  foe  to  happiness.  Man 
may  content  himself  with  the  applause  of  the  world,  and  the 
homage  paid  to  his  intellect;  but  woman's  heart  has  holier  idols. 
You  are  young,  and  impulsive,  and  aspiring,  and  Fame  beckons 
you  on,  like  the  syren  of  antiquity;  but  the  months  and  yeara 
will  surely  come  when,  with  wasted  energies  and  embittered 
heart,  yon  are  left  to  mourn  your  infatuation.  I  would  save 
you  from  this,  but  you  will  drain  the  very  dregs  rather  than 
*brsake  your  tempting  fiend,  for  such  is  ambition  to  the  female 
heart.  Yes,  you  will  spend  the  springtime  of  your  life  chasing 
ft  painted  spectre,  and  go  down  to  a  premature  grave,  disap- 
pointed and  miserable.  Poor  child,  it  needs  no  prophetic  vision 
to  predict  your  ill-starred  career!  Already  the  consuming  level 
tuts  begun  its  march  In  far  listant  lauds,  "  shall  have  no  tid 


I 


402  B  K  U  L  A  H  . 

ings  of  you,  but  none  will  be  needed.  Perhaps,  when  I  travel 
home  to  die,  your  feverish  iream  will  have  ended;  or  perchance, 
sinking  to  eternal  rest  in  some  palm  grove  of  the  far  East,  we 
shall  meet  no  more.  Since  the  day  I  took  you  in  my  arms  from 
Tally's  coffin,  you  have  been  my  only  hope,  my  all.  You  little 
knew  how  precious  you  were  to  me,  nor  what  keen  suffering  our 
estrangement  cost  me.  Oh,  child,  I  have  loved  you  as  only 
strong,  suffering,  passionate  heart  could  love  its  last  idol!  But 
I,  too,  chased  a  shadow.  Experience  should  have  taught  me 
wisdom.  Now,  I  am  a  gloomy,  joyless  man,  weary  of  my  home, 
and  henceforth  a  wanderer.  Asbury  (if  he  lives)  will  be  truly 
your  friend,  and  to  him  I  shall  commit  the  legacy  which, 
hitherto,  you  have  refused  to  accept.  Mr.  Graham  paid  it  into 
my  hands,  after  his  last  unsatisfactory  interview  with  you.  The 
day  may  come  when  you  will  need  it.  I  shall  send  you  some 
medicine,  which,  for  your  own  sake,  you  had  better  take  imme- 
diately; but  you  wPI  never  grow  stronger,  until  you  give  your- 
self rest,  relaxation,  physically  and  mentally.  Remember,  when 
your  health  is  broken,  and  all  your  hopes  withered,  remember  I 
warned  you,  and  would  have  saved  you,  and  you  would  not." 
Hs  stooped,  and  took  his  bat  from  the  floor. 

Beulah  sat  looking  at  him,  stunned,  bewildered,  her  tearless 
eyes  strained  and  frightened  in  their  expression.  The  transient 
illumination  in  his  face  had  faded,  like  sunset  tints,  leaving  dull, 
leaden  clouds  behind.  His  compressed  lips  were  firm  again, 
and  the  misty  eyes  became  coldly  glittering,  as  one  sees  stars 
brighten  in  a  frosty  air. 

He  put  on  his  hat,  and  they  looked  at  each  other  fixedly. 

"Ycu  are  not  in  earnest?  you  are  not  going  to  quit  your 
tome  T'  cried  Beulah,  in  a  broken,  unsteady  tone. 

"  Yes,  going  into  the  far  East;  to  the  ruined  altars  of  Baalbec; 
t;  Meroc,  to  Tartary,  India,  China,  and  only  fate  knows  where 
else.  Perhaps  find  a  cool  Nebo  in  some  Himalayan  range. 
Going  ?  Yes.  Did  you  suppose  I  meant  only  to  operate  on 
vour  sympathies?  I  know  you  too  well.  What  is  it  tc  yon 


BE  TIL  AH  403 

rhether  I  live  or  die  ?  whether  my  weary  feet  rest  in  an  Indian 
jungle,  or  a  sunny  slope  of  the  city  cemetery  ?  Yes,  I  am  going 
very  soon,  and  this  is  our  last  meeting.  I  shall  not  again  dis 
turb  yon  in  your  ambitions  pursuits.  Ah,  child," 

"  Oh,  don't  go!  don't  leave  me!  I  beg,  I  implore  you,  not  tc 
leave  me.  Oh,  I  am  so  desolate!  don't  forsake  me!  I  could 
not  bear  to  know  you  were  gone.  Oh,  don't  leave  me!''1  She 
sprang  up,  and  throwing  her  arms  round  his  neck,  clung  to  him, 
trembling  like  a  frightened  child.  But  there  was  no  relaxation 
of  his  pale,  fixed  features,  as  he  coldly  answered  : 

"  Once  resolved,  I  never  waver.  So  surely  as  I  live,  I  shall 
go.  It  might  have  been  otherwise,  but  you  decided  it  yourself. 
An  hour  ago,  you  held  my  destiny  in  your  hands;  now  it  is  fixed. 
[  should  have  gone  six  years  since,  had  I  not  indulged  a  linger- 
ing hope  of  happiness  in  your  love.  Child,  don't  shive*,  and 
cling  to  me  so.  Oceans  will  soon  roll  between  us,  and,  for  a 
time,  you  will  have  no  leisure  to  regret  my  absence.  Hence- 
forth we  are  strangers." 

"  No,  that  shall  never  be.     You  do  not  mean  it ;  you  know 
it  is  impossible.     You  know  that  I  prize  your  friendship  above 
every  earthly  thing.     You  know  that  I  look  up  to  yon  as  to  no  I 
one  else.     That  I  shall  be  miserable,  oh,  how  miserable,  if  you ' 
leave  me  1     Oh,  sir,  I  have  mourned  over  your  coldness  and 
indifference  ;  don't  cast  me  off  1     Don't  go  to  distant  lands,  and 
Jeave  me  to  struggle  without  aid   or  counsel   in  this  selfish, 
unfriendly  world  I     My  heart  dies  within  me,  at  the  thought  of 
your  being  where  I  shall   not  be   able  to  see  you.     Oh,  iny 
guardian,  don't  forsake  me  1" 

She  pressed  her  face  against  his  shoulder,  and  clasped  hoi 
arms  firmly  round  his  neck. 

"  !  am  not  your  guardian,  Beulah.  You  refused  to  make  me 
Buch.  You  are  a  proud,  ambitious  woman,  solicitous  only  to 
lecure  eminence  as  an  authoress.  I  asked  your  heart;  you  have 
now  none  to  give  ;  but  perhaps  some  day  you  will  love  me,  at 
devotedly,  nay,  as  madly,  as  I  have  long  loved  you;  for  love  Ukf 


mine  wonfd  wake  affection  even  in  a  marble  image;  but  t\e%t 
rolling  oceans  and  trackless  deserts  will  divide  us.  And  now, 
good  bye.  Make  yourself  a  name  ;  bind  your  aching  brow  with 
the  chaplet  of  Fame,  and  see  if  ambition  can  fill  your  heart 
Oood  bye,  dear  child." 

Gently  he  drew  her  arms  from  his  neck,  and  took  her  face  if. 
bis  soft  palms.  lie  looked  at  her  a  moment,  sadly  and  earnestly, 
as  if  striving  to  fix  her  features  in  the  frame  of  memory ;  then 
bent  his  head  and  pressed  a  long  kiss  on  her  lips.  She  put 
out  her  hands,  but  he  had  gone,  and  sinking  down  on  the  step, 
she  hid  her  face  in  her  arms.  A  pall  seemed  suddenly  thrown 
over  the.  future,  and  the  orphaned  heart  shrank  back  from  the 
t~  lonely  path  where  only  spectres  were  visible.  Never  before  had 
she  realized  how  dear  he  was  to  her,  how  large  a  share  of  her 
/  love  he  possessed,  and  now  the  prospect  of  a  long,  perhaps  filial 
separation,  filled  her  with  a  shivering,  horrible  dread.  We  have 
seen  that  self-reliance  was  a  powerful  element  of  her  character, 
and  she  had  learned,  from  painful  necessity,  to  depend  as  little 
as  possible  upon  the  sympathies  of  others  ;  but  in  this  hour  of 
anguish,  a  sense  of  joyless  isolation  conquered  ;  her  proud  soul 
bowed  down  beneath  the  weight  of  intolerable  grief,  and 
acknowledged  itself  not  wholly  independent  of  the  love  and 
presence  of  her  guardian. 

Beulah  went  back  to  her  desk,  and  with  tearless  eyes  began 
the  allotted  task  of  writing.  The  article  was  due,  and  must  be 
finished  ;  was  there  not  a  long,  dark  future  in  which  to  mourn  ? 
The  sketch  was  designed  to  prove  that  woman's  happiness  was 
not  necessarily  dependent  on  marriage.  That  a  single  life  might 
be  more  useful,  more  tranquil,  more  unselfish.  Beulah  had 
painted  her  heroine  in  glowing  tints,  and  triumphantly  prcved 
her  theory  correct,  while  to  female  influence  she  awarded  8 
sphere  (exclusive  of  rostrums  and  all  political  arenas)  wide  us 
the  universe,  and  high  as  heaven.  Weary  work  it  all  seemed  to 
tier  now  ;  but  she  wrote  on,  and  on,  and  finally  the  last  page 
was  copied  and  the  last  punctuation  mark  afBxed.  She  wrapped 


BBC  L  AH.  405 

ap  the  manuscript,  directed  it  to  the  editor,  and  then  the  pen 
fell  from  her  nerveless  fingers  and  her  head  went  down,  with  a 
wailing  cry,  on  her  desk  There  the  morning  sun  flashed  upon 
a  white  face,  tear-stained  and  full  of  keen  anguish.  How  hei 
readers  would  have  marvelled  at  the  sight  ?  Ah,  "  Verily  the 
heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness." 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

ONE  afternoon  in  the  following  week,  Mrs.  Williams  sat 
wrapped  up  in  the  hall,  watching  Beulah's  movements  in  the 
yard  at  the  rear  of  the  house.  The  whitewashed  paling  was 
covered  with  luxuriant  raspberry  vines,  and  in  one  corner  of  the 
garden  was  a  bed  of  strawberry  plants.  Over  this  bed  Beulah 
was  bending  with  a  basket,  nearly  filled  with  the  ripe  scarlet 
berries.  Stooping  close  to  the  plants,  she  saw  only  the  fruit  she 
was  engaged  in  picking  ;  and  when  the  basket  was  quite  full, 
•she  was  suddenly  startled  by  a  merry  laugh,  and  a  pair  of  hands 
clasped  over  her  eyes. 

"  Who  blindfolds  me  ?"  said  she. 

"  Guess,  you  solemn  witch." 

"  Why,  Georgia,  of  course." 

The  hands  were  removed,  and  Georgia  Asbury's  merry  face 
greeted  her. 

"  I  am  ^lad  to  see  you,  Georgia,     Where  is  Helen  ?" 

"  Oh,  gone  to  ride  with  one  of  her  adorers,  but  I  have 
brought  somebody  to  see  you  who  is  worth  the  whole  Asburj 
family.  No  less  a  personage  than  my  famous  cousin  Reginald 
Lindsay,  whom  you  have  heard  us  speak  of  so  often.  Oh,  how 
teinpttojj  those  luscious  berries  are  1  Reginald  and  I  intend  t« 
•tay  tc  tea,  and  father  will  perhaps  come  out  in  the  carriage  foi 


406  B  E  D  L  A  H  . 

as.  Come,  yonder  is  my  cousin  on  the  gallery  looking  at  you, 
aud  pretending  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Williams.  He  has  read  yoni 
magazine  sketches  and  is  very  anxious  to  see  you.  How  nicely 
vou  look  ;  only  a  little  too  statuish.  Can't  you  get  up  a  smile  1 
That  is  better.  Here,  let  me  twine  this  cluster  of  wisteria  ia 
your  hair;  I  stole  it  as  I  ran  up  the  steps." 

Beulah  was  clad  in  a  pure  white  inull  muslin,  and  were  a 
short  black  silk  apron,  confined  at  the  waist  by  a  heavy  jord 
and  tassel.  Georgia  fastened  the  purple  blossoms  in  her  silky 
hair,  and  they  entered  the  house.  Mr.  Lindsay  met  them,  and 
as  his  cousin  introduced  him,  Beulah  looked  at  him,  and  met  the 
earnest  gaze  of  a  pair  of  deep  blue  eyes,  which  seemed  to  index 
a  nature  singularly  tranquil.  She  greeted  him  quietly,  and 
would  have  led  the  way  to  the  front  of  the  house,  but  Georgia 
threw  herself  down  on  the  steps,  and  exclaimed,  eagerly  : 

"  Do  let  us  stay  here ;  the  air  is  so  deliciously  sweet  and  cool. 
Cousin,  there  is  a  chair.  Beulab,  you  aud  I  will  stem  these 
berries  at  once,  so  that  they  may  be  ready  for  tea." 

She  took  the  basket,  and  soon  their  fingers  were  stained  with 
the  rosy  juice  of  the  fragrant  fruit.  All  restraint  vanished  ; 
the  conversation  was  gay,  and  spiced  now  and  then  with  repar- 
tees, which  elicited  Georgia's  birdish  laugh,  and  banished  for  a 
time  the  weary,  joyless  expression  of  Beulah's  countenance. 
The  berries  were  finally  arranged  to  suit  Georgia's  taste,  and  the 

!  party  returned  to  the  little  parlor.  Here  Beulah  was  soon 
engaged  by  Mr.  Lindsay,  in  the  discussion  of  some  of  the  lead- 

\  ing  literary  questions  of  the  day.  She  forgot  the  great  sorrov* 
that  brooded  over  her  heart,  a  faint,  pearly  glow  crept  into  her 
cheeks,  aud  the  mouth  lost  its  expression  of  resolute  endurance. 
She  found  Mr.  Lindsay  highly  cultivated  in  his  tastes,  polished 
in  his  manners,  aud  possessed  of  rare  intellectual  attaino-snts, 
while  the  utter  absence  of  egotism  and  pedantry,  impressed  her 

>  with  involuntary  admiration.  Extensive  travel,  and  long  study, 
lad  familiarized  him  with  almost  every  branch  of  science  and 
deoartmeut  of  literature,  and  the  ease  and  grace  with  which  b« 


BEULAH.  .     407 

imparted  some  information  she  desired,  respecting  the  European 
schools  of  art,  contrasted  favorably  with  the  coufused  account 
Eugene  had  rendered  of  the  same  subject.     She  remarked  a  sin- 
gular composure  of  countenance,  voice,  and  even  position,  which 
ef.emed  idiosyncratic,   and  was  directly  opposed  to   the   stern) 
ligiility  and   cynicism  of  her  guardian.     She  shrank  from  thej 
calm,  steadfast  gaze  of  his  eyes,  which  looked  into  hers,  with  a( 
deep  yet  gentle  scrutiny,  and  resolved  ere  the  close  of  the  ever, 
ing  to  sound  him,  concerning  some  of  the  philosophic  phases  of 
the  age.     Had  he  escaped  the  upas  taint  of  skepticism  ?     An 
opportunity  soon  occurred  to  favor 'her  wishes,  for  chancing  to 
allude  to  his  visit  to  Rydal  Mount,  while  in  the  lake  region  of 
England,  the  transition  to  a  discussion  of  the  metaphysical  tono  • 
of  the  "  Excursion,"  was  quite  easy.. 

"  You  seemed  disposed,  like  Howitt,  to  accord  it  the  title  of 
'  Bible  of  Quakerism,' "  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  in  answer  to  a  remark 
of  hers  concerning  its  tendency. 

"  It  is  a  fertile  theme  of  disputation,  sir,  and  since  critics  are 
so  divided  in  their  verdicts,  I  may  well  be  pardoned  an  opinion, 
which  so  many  passages  seem  to  sanction.  If  Quakerism  if 
belief  in  '  immediate  inspiration,'  which  you  will  scarcely  deny, 
then  throughout  the  '  Excursion,'  Wordsworth  seems  its  apostle." 

"  No,  he  stands  as  a  high-priest  in  the  temple  of  nature,  and 
calls  mankind  from  scientific  lore,  to  offer  their  orisons  there  at 
his  altar,  and  receive  passively  the  teachings  of  the  materia1 
universe .  Tells  us, 

"  '  Our  meddling  intellect 

Misshapes  the  beauteous  forms  of  things,' 

ind  promises,  in  nature,  an  unerring  guide  and  teacher  of  trnlk 
js  his  lines  on  revisiting  the  Wye,  he  declares  himself, 


Well  pleased  to  recognize 


In  nature,  and  tie  language  of  the  sense, 
The  anchor  of  my  purests  thoughts,  the  nurse, 
The  guide,  the  guardian  of  my  heart  and  soul, 
Of  all  inv  moral  being  ' 


*08  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

Quakerism  rejects  all  extraneous  aids  to  a  knowledge  o! 
God  ;  a  silent  band  of  friends  sit  waiting  for  the  direct  inspira- 
tion, which  alone  can  impart  true  light.  Wordsworth  made-  the 
sense?,  the  appreciation  of  the  beauty  and  sublimity  of  the 
anir^rse,  an  avenue  of  light  ;  while  Quakerism,  according  to 
the  doctrines  of  Fox  and  his  early  followers,  is  merely  a  form  of 
siysticism,  nearly  allied  to  the  'ecstasy'  of  Plotinus.  The 
Quaker  silences  his  reason,  his  every  faculty,  and  in  utter  pas- 
sivity waits  for  the  infusion  of  divine  light  into  his  mind  ;  the 
mystic  of  Alexandria,  as  far  as  possible,  divests  his  intellect  of 
all  personality,  and  becomes  absorbed  in  the  Infinite  intelligence 
from  which  it  emanated." 

Beulnh  knitted  her  brows,  and  answered  musingly  : 

"  And  here,  then,  extremes  meet.  To  know  God,  we  must  be 
God.  Mysticism  and  Pantheism  link  hands  over  the  gulf  which 
seemed  to  divide  them," 

"  Miss  Benton,  is  this  view  of  the  subject  a  novel  one  t"  said 
he,  looking  at  her  very  intently. 

"  No,  a  singular  passage  in  the  'Biographia  Li tcraria,' sug- 
gested it  to  me  long  ago.  But  unwelcome  hints  are  rarely 
accepted,  you  know." 

"  Why  unwelcome  in  this  case  T' 

She  looked  at  him,  but  made  no  reply,  and  none  was  needed. 
He  understood  why,  and  said  quietly,  yet  impressively  : 

"  It  sets  the  seal  of  necessity  upon  Revelation.  Not  the 
mystical  intuitions  of  the  dreamers,  who  would  fain  teach  of 
continued  direct  inspiration  from  God,  even  at  the  present  time, 
but  the  revelation  which  began  in  Genesis,  and  ended  with  John 
i  on  Patmos.  Th»  very  absurdities  of  philosophy  are  the  most 
<  potent  arguments  in  substantiating  the  claims  of  Christianity. 
E'ant's  theory,  that  we  can  know  nothing  beyond  ourselves, 
gavo  the  death-blow  to  philosophy.  Mysticism  contends,  that 
reason  onl)-  darkens  the  mind,  and  consequently  discarding  ai) 
reasoning  processes,  relies  upon  immediate  revelation.  But  the 
of  Swedenborg,  and  even  of  George  Fox,  prov* 


B  E  C  L  A  II  .  409 

the  fallacy  of  tlie  assumption  of  continued  inspiration,  and  the 
only  alternative  is  to  rest  upon  the  Christian  Kevelation,  which 
Las  successfully  defied  all  assaults." 

There  was  an  instantaneous  flash  of  joy  over  Beulah's  troubled 
face,  and  she  said  hastily  : 

"  You  have  escaped  the  contagion,  then  ?  Such  exemption  :a 
fare  now-a-day,  for  skepticism  broods  with  sable  wings  over  the 
age." 

"  It  has  always  brooded  where  man  essayed  to  lift  the  veil  of 
Isis ;  to  elucidate  the  arcana  of  the  universe,  to  solve  the  uusolv- 
able.  Skepticism  is  the  disease  of  minds,  which  Christian  faith 
alone  can  render  healthy." 

The  thrust  showed  she  was  not  invulnerable,  out  before  she 
jotild  reply,  Georgia  exclaimed  : 

"  In  the  name  of  common  sense,  Reginald,  what  are  you  dis. 
•cursing  about  so  tiresomely  ?  I  suppose  I  am  shamefuiiy  stupid, 
out  I  don't  understand  a  word  you  two  have  been  saying.  When 
lather  and  Beulah  get  on  such  dry,  tedious  subjects,  I  always  set 
tip  an  opposition  at  the  piano,  which  in  this  instance  I  am  forced 
to  do,  from  sheer  necessity." 

She  raised  the  lid  of  the  piano,  and  rattled  off  a  brilliant  over- 
ture ;  then  made  Beulah  join  her  in  several  instrumental  duets 
As  the  latter  rose,  Mr.  Lindsay  said,  somewhat  abruptly  : 

"  I  believe  you  sing.  My  cousins  have  been  extolling  your 
voice,  and  I  have  some  curiosity  to  hear  you.  Will  you  gratify 
me?" 

"  Certainly,  if  you  desire  it." 

She  could  not  refrain  from  smiling  at  the  perfect  nonchalance 
of  his  manner,  and  passing  her  fingers  over  the  keys,  sang  a 
beautiful  air  from  "  Lucia."  Her  guest  listened  attentively,  and 
when  the  song  was  ended,  approached  the  piano,  and  said,  with 
iorne  interest  : 

"  I  should  prefer  a  simple  ballad,  if  you  will  favor  me  with  one." 

"  Something  after  the  order  of  '  Lilly  Dale,'  Beulah  ;  he  hears 
nothing  f  ise  in  his  country  home,"  said  Georgia,  teasinglj. 
18 


410  B  K  D  L  A  a  . 

He  smiled,  but  did  not  contradict  her,  a~id  Beulah  sang  that 
exquisite  ballad,  "  Why  do  Summer  Roses  Fade."  It  was  one 
of  her  guardian's  favorite  airs,  and  now  his  image  was  associated 
•with  the  strain.  Ere  the  first  verse  was  finished,  a  deep,  rich, 
manly  voice,  which  had  sometimes  echoed  through  the  study, 
S3emcd  again  to  join  hers,  and  despite  her  efforts,  her  own  tones 
trembled. 

Soon  after,  Beulah  took  her  place  at  the  tea-table  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  and  conversation  turned  on  the  delights  of  country 
life. 

"  Reginald,  how  do  you  manage  to  amuse  yourself  in  that  liltlo 
town  of  yours  ?"  asked  Georgia,  drawing  the  bowl  of  strawberries 
near,  and  helping  him  bountifully. 

.  "  I  might  answer,  that  I  had  passed  the  age  when  amusement 
was  necessary,  but  I  will  not  beg  your  question  so  completely 
In  the  first  place,  I  do  not  reside  in  town.  My  office  is  there, 
•and  during  the  day,  when  not  absent  at  court,  I  am  generally  in 
rny  office  ;  but  evening  always  finds  me  at  home.  Once  there,  I 
have  endless  sources  of  amusement  ;  my  mother's  flowers  and 
birds,  my  farm  affairs,  my  music,  and  my  library,  to  say  nothing 
of  hunting  and  fishing.  Remember,  Georgia,  that,  as  a  class, 
lawyers  are  not  addicted  to  what  you  call  amusements." 

"But  after  living  in  Europe,  and  travelling  so  much,  I  should 
think  that  plantation  would  be  horribly  dull.  Do  you  never  suffer 
from  tnnui,  cut  off  as  you  are  from  all  society  ?" 

"  Ennui  is  a  disease  of  which  I  am  yet  happily  ignorant.  But 
for  my  mother,  I  should  feel  the  need  of  society  ;  in  a  great 
measure,  her  presence  supplies  it.  I  shall  tell  you  no  mom, 
cousin  mine,  since  you  and  Helen  are  to  spend  a  portion  of  your 
Bummer  with  us,  and  can  judge  for  yourselves  of  the  attraction 
of  my  country  home." 

"Are  you  residing  near  Mr.  Arlington?"  said  Beulah. 

"  Quite  near  ;  his  plantation  adjoins  mine.  Is  he  a  friend  •"•* 
jrours  ?" 

"5$o,  but  I  have  a  friend  living  this  year  in  his  family.     M'PP 


BEULAH.  Ill 

Sanders  is  governess  for   his    children.     You  probably  kn>n* 
her." 

"  Yes,  I  see  her  occasionally.  Keport  says  she  is  yocn  txi 
become  the  bride  of  Richard  Arlington." 

A  slight  smile  curved  his  lips  as  he  watched  Beulab's  conn- 
tenance.  She  offered  no  comment,  and  he  perceived  that  the  on 
dit  was  not  new  to  her. 

"  Beulah,  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of  Dr.  HartwelPs  intended 
journey  to  the  East  ?  What  an  oddity  he  is  !  Told  me  he  con- 
templated renting  a  bungalow  somewhere  in  heathendom,  and 
turning  either  Brahmiu  or  Parsee,  he  had  not  quite  decided 
which.  He  has  sold  his  beautiful  place  to  the  Parleys.  The 
greenhouse  plants  he  gave  to  mother,  and  all  the  statuary  and 
paintings  are  to  be  sent  to  us  until  his  return,  which  cannot  be 
predicted  with  any  certainty.  Father  frets  a  good  deal  over 
this  freak,  as  he  calls  it,  and  says  the  doctor  had  much  better 
stay  at  home  and  physic  the  sick.  I  thought  it  was  a  sudden 
whim,  but  he  says  he  has  contemplated  the  trip  a  long  time.  He 
is  going  immediately,  I  believe.  It  must  be  a  trial  to  you/'  said 
the  thoughtless  girl. 

"  Yes,  I  cannot  realize  it  yet,"  replied  Beulah,  struggling  with 
herself  for  composure,  and  hastily  setting  down  her  tea-cuj*, 
which  trembled  violently.  The  shadows  swept  over  her  once 
more.  Mr.  Lindsay  noticed  her  agitation,  and  with  delicate 
consideration  forbore  to  look  at  her.  Georgia  continued,  heed- 
lessly : 

"  I  wanted  that  melodeon  that  sits  in  his  study,  but  though 
the  remainder  of  the  furniture  is  to  be  auctioned  off,  he  says  lie 
will  not  sell  the  melodeon,  and  requested  my  father  to  have  it 
carefully  locked  up  somewhere  at  home.  I  asked  if  I  might  not 
ase  it,  and  what  do  you  suppose  he  said  ?  That  I  might  I  avt 
his  grand  piano,  if  I  would  accept  it,  but  that  nobody  was  to 
touch  his  melodeon.  I  told  him  he  ought  to  send  the  piano  out 
to  you,  in  his  absence,  but  he  looked  cross,  and  said  you  w  »j\4 
BO*-  use  it  if  he  did," 


412  BEULAfl. 

Poor  Beulah  ;  her  lips  quivered,  and  her  lingers  clasped  eack 
other  tightly,  but  she  said  nothing.  Just  then  she  heard  Dr 
Asbury's  quick  step  in  the  hall,  and  to  her  infinite  relief,  h« 
entered,  accompanied  by  Helen.  She  saw  that  though  his  man 
acr  was  kind  and  bantering  ao  usual,  there  was  an  anxious  look 
>n  bis  benevolent  face,  and  his  heavy  brows  occasionally  knitted. 
Whet  he  went  into  the  adjoining  room  to  see  Mrs.  Williams,  sho 
Boderstood  his  glance,  and  followed  him.  He  paused  in  the  hall, 
and  said,  eagerly  :  "  Has  Hartwell  been  here  lately  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  was  here  last  week." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  of  his  whim  about  travelling  East  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  told  me." 

"  Beulah,  take  care  what  you  are  about  1  You  arc  working 
mischief  not  easily  rectified.  Child,  keep  Guy  at  home  !" 

"  He  is  master  of  his  own  movements,  and  you  know  his  stub- 
born will  I  would  keep  him  here  if  I  could,  but  I  have  no  influ- 
ence." 

"All  fiddle-sticks  !  I  know  better  1  I  am  neither  a  bat  nor 
*.  mole.  Beulah,  I  warn  you  ;  I  beg  you,  child,  mind  how  you 
act.  Once  entirely  estranged,  all  the  steam  in  Christendom 
could  not  force  him  back.  Don't  let  him  go  ;  if  you  do,  the 
g'aine  is  up,  I  tell  you  now.  You  will  repent  your  own  work,  if 
you  do  not  take  care.  I  told  him  he  was  a  fool,  to  leave  such  a 
position  as  his,  and  go  to  dodging  robbers  in  eastern  deserts  ; 
thereupon  he  looked  as  bland  and  impenetrable  as  if  I  had  com- 
pared him  to  Solomon.  There,  go  back  to  your  company,  and 
mind  what  I  say  ;  don't  let  Guy  go." 

Ho  left  her  ;  and  though  she  exerted  herself  to  entertain  her 
guests,  Mr.  Lindsay  saw  that  her  mind  was  troubled,  and  her 
heart  oppressed.  He  endeavored  to  divert  her  thoughts,  by 
introducing  varkus  topics  ;  and  she  talked  and  smiled,  and  eveu 
played  and  sang,  yet  the  unlifting  cloud  lay  on  her  brow.  The 
evening  seemed  strangely  long,  and  she  accompanied  her  visitors 
to  the  door  with  a  sensation  of  relief.  At  parting,  Mr  Lindsaj 
took  her  hand,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice : 


BEULAH.  413 

"  May  I  come  whenever  I  am  in  your  city  ?" 

"Certainly  I  shall  be  pleased  to  see  you,  when  you  .aavt 
dsure,"  she  replied,  hurriedly. 

"  I  shall  avail  myself  of  your  permission,  I  assure  yon." 

She  had  often  heard  Dr.  Asbury  speak,  with  fond  pride,  of  thi* 
nephew  ;  and  as-  Eugene  had  also  frequently  meutioued  hiio  io 
bis  early  letters  from  Heidelberg,  she  felt  that  he  was  scarcely  a 
stranger,  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  term.  To  her,  Lis 
parting  words  seemed  merely  polite,  commonplace  forms  ;  and 
with  no  thought  of  a  future  acquaintance  she  dismissed  him  from 
her  mind,  which  was  too  painfully  preoccupied  to  dwell  upon  the 
circumstances  of  his  visit. 

A  few  days  passed,  and  one  Saturday  morning  she  sat  in  the 
dining  room,  finishing  a  large  drawing,  upon  which  she  had  for 
months  expended  all  her  leisure  moments.  It  was  designed  from 
a  description  in  "  Queen  Mab,"  and  she  took  up  her  crayon  to 
give  the  final  touch,  when  heavy  steps  in  the  hall  arrested  hei 
attention,  and  glancing  toward  the  door,  she  saw  Hal,  Dr 
Hartwell's  driver,  with  a  wooden  box  on  his  shoulder,  and  Charoi 
by  his  side.  The  latter  barked  with  delight,  and  sprang  to  mee' 
the  girl,  who  had  hastily  risen. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Beulah  ?  It  is  many  a  day  since  I 
have  seen  you,  and  you  look  the  worse  of  wear  too.  Haven'* 
been  sick,  have  you  ?"  said  Hal,  sliding  the  box  down  on  tly 
floor. 

"  Not  exactly  sick,  but  not  so  well  as  usual,"  she  answered, 
passing  her  trembling  hands  over  the  clog's  head. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see,  for  my  part,  what  is  to  become  of  us  all, 
now  master's  gone  " 

"  Gone  I"  echoed  Beulah. 

ilWhy,  to  be  sure.  He  started  to  the  plantation  yesterdaj 
to  set  things  all  in  order  there,  and  then  he  is  going  straight  OQ 
to  New  York.  The  house  looks  desolate  enough,  and  I  feel  lik« 
I  was  about  to  dig  my  own  grave.  Just  before  he  left,  he  called 
me  iuto  the  study,  and  told  me  that  as  soon  as  be  had  gone.  J 


il*  BEULAH. 

was  to  bring  Charon  over  to  you,  and  ask  you  to  keep  him,  and 
takO'Carc  of  him.  lie  tried  to  unlock  the  collar  on  his  neck,  bat 
somehow  the  key  would  not  turn.  Master  looked  dreadful  sad 
when  he  putted  poor  Char's  head,  and  let  the  brute  put  his  paws 
on  hi.s  shoulders  for  the  last  time.  Just  as  the  boat  pushed  off 
he  called  to  me  to  be  sure*  to  bring  him  to  you  ;  so  here  he  is 
and,  Miss  Beulah,  the  poor  fellow  seems  to  know  something  ig 
wrong  ;  he  whined  all  night,  and  ran  over  the  empty  house  this 
morning,  growling  and  snuffing.  You  are  to  keep  him  till  iraa- 
ter  comes  home  ;  the  Lord  only  knows  when  that  will  be.  I 
tried  to  find  out,  but  he  looked  for  the  world  like  one  of  thcii 
uto'.ie  faces  in  the  study,  and  gave  me  no  satisfaction  Misa 
Beulah,  Dr.  Asbury  was  at  the  house  just  as  I  started,  and  he 
cent  over  this  box  to  you.  Told  me  to  tell  you  that  he  had  all 
the  pictures  muved  to  his  house,  but  had  not  room  to  hang  all, 
so  he  sent  one  over  for  you  to  take  care  of.  Shall  I  take  it  out 
of  the  case  ?" 

"  Never  mind,  Hal,  I  can  do  that.  Did  your  master  leave  no 
other  message  for  me  ?  was  there  no  note  ?"  She  leaned  heavily 
on  a  chair  to  support  herself. 

"  None  that  I  know  of,  except  that  you  must  be  kind  to 
Charon.  I  have  no  time  to  spare  ;  Dr.  Asbury  needs  me  ;  sc 
good  bye  Miss  Beulah.  I  will  stop  some  day  when  I  am  pass- 
ing, and  see  how  the  dog  comes  on.  I  know  he  will  be  satisfied 
with  yon.'' 

The  faithful  servant  touched  his  hat  and  withdrew.  The 
storm  of  grief  could  no  longer  be  repressed,  and  sinking  down  ou 
the  floor,  Beulah  clasped  her  arms  round  Charon's  neck,  and 
hid  her  face  in  his  soft  curling  hair,  while  her  whole  frame  shook 
with  convulsive  sobs.  She  had  not  believed  her  guardian  would 
teave  without  coming  again,  and  had  confidently  expected  him, 
iiid  now  he  had  gone.  Perhaps  forever  ;  at  best  for  many 
fears..  She  might  never  see  him  again,  and  this  thought  wan 
core  than  she  could  endure.  The  proud  restraint  she  was  wont 
o  impose  upon  her  feelings  all  vanished,  and  in  her  despairing 


B  Ft  LAB.  416 

Borrow  she  wept  and  moaned,  as  she  had  never  Jone  before, 
even  wnen  Lilly  was  taken  from  her.  Charon  crouched  tlose  tc 
her,  with  a  mute  grief  clearly  written  in  his  sober,  sagacious 
countenance,  and  each  clung  to  the  other,,  as  to  a  last  stay  aud 
solace.  He.  was  a  powerful  animal,  with  huge  limbs,  and  » 
thick,  shaggy  covering,  sable  as  midnight,  without  a  speck  of 
ophite  about  him  Around  his  neck  was  a  silver  chain,  support 
h.g  a  broad  piece  of  plate,  on  which  was  engraved,  in  German 
letters,  the  single  word,  "  Hartwell."  How  long  she  sat  there 
Beulah  knew  not,  but  a  growl  roused  her,  aud  she  saw  Mrs 
Williams  looking  sorrowfully  at  her. 

"  My  child,  what  makes  you  moan  and  weep  so  bitterly  ?" 
"  Oh,  because  I  am  so  miserable  ;  because  I  have  lost  my  best 
friend  ;   my  only  friend  ;   my  guardian.     He  has  gone — gone  ! 
and  I  did  not  Bee  him."     With  a  stifled  cry  her  face  went  down 
agnin. 

The  matron  had  never  seen  her  so  unnerved  before,  and 
wondered  at  the  vehemence  of  her  grief,  but  knew  her  nature 
too  well  to  attempt  consolation.  Beulah  lifted  the  box  aud 
retired  to  her  own  room,  followed  by  Charon.  Securing  the  door, 
utie  put  the  case  on  the  table  and  looked  at  it  wistfully.  Were 
her  conjectures,  her  hopes  correct  ?  She  raised  the  lid,  and  un-" 
wrapped  the  frame,  and  there  was  the  noble  head  of  her  guar- 
dian. She  hung  the  portrait  on  a  hook  jusfc  above  her  desk,  and 
then  stood,  with  streaming  eyes,  lookiag  up  at  it.  It  had  been 
painted  a  few  weeks  after  his  marriage,  and  represented  him  in 
the  full  morning  of  manhood,  ere  his  heart  was  embittered,  and 
his  clear  brow  overshadowed.  The  artist  had  suffered  a  ray  of 
sunshine  to  fall  on  the  brown  hair  that  rippled  round  his  white 
teinj  les  with  careless  grace.  There  was  no  moustache  to  shads 
'h-i  sculptured  lips,  and  they  seemed  about  to  part  in  one  of  those 
rare,  fascinating  smiles  which  Beulah  had  often  watched  for  ic 
fain.  The  matchless  eyes  looked  down  at  her,  with  brooding 
tenderness  in  their  hazel  depths,  and  now  seemed  to  question  he? 
uncontrollable  grief.  Yet  she  had  pained  him  -y  had  in  part/ 


4:16  &  E  U  L  A  H  . 

caused  his  exile  Tom  the  home  of  his  youth,  and  anded  auothcj 
Borrow  to  those  which  now  veiled  that  peerless  face  iu  gloom 
He  had  placed  his  happiness  iu  her  hands  ;  had  asked  her  to 
be  his  wife.  She  looked  at  the  portrait,  and  shuddered  and 
moaned,  She  loved  him  above  all  others  ;  loved  him  as  a  child 
adores  its  father  ;  but  how  could  she,  who  had  so  reverencet, 
him,  consent  to  become  his  wife  ?  Besides,  she  could  not  believe 
he  loved  her.  He  liked  her  ;  pitied  her  isolation  and  orphan- 
age ;  felt  the  need  of  her  society,  and  wanted  her  always  in  hia 
home.  But  she  could  not  realize  that  he,  who  so  worshipped 
beauty,  could  possibly  love  her.  It  was  all  like  a  hideous  dream 
which  morning  would  dispel  ;  but  there  was  the  reality,  and 
there  was  Charon  looking  steadily  up  at  the  portrait  he  was  at 
no  loss  to  recognize. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  have  seen  him  once  more.  If  he  had  parted 
with  me  iu  kindness,  it  would  not  be  so  intolerable.  But  to 
remember  his  stern,  sad  face,  as  last  I  saw  it  ;  oh,  how  can  I 
bear  it  1  To  have  it  haunting  me  through  life,  like  a  horrible 
spectre  ;  no  friendly  words  to  cherish  ;  no  final  message  ;  all 
gloom  and  a.nger.  Oh,  how  shall  I  bear  it  !"  and  she  fell  on 
Charon's  neck  and  wept  bitterly. 


CHAPTER     XXXIII. 

Is  the  early  days  of  summer,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Graham  left  the 
city  for  one  of  the  fashionable  watering-places  on  the  Gulf, 
accompanied  by  Antoinette.  Eugene  remained,  on  some  pretest 
of  business,  but  promised  to  follow  in  a  short  time.  The  week 
subsequent  to  their  departure  saw  a  party  of  gentlemen  assem- 
bled to  dine  at  his  house.  The  long  afternoon  wore  away,  still 
they  sat  round  the  table.  The  cloth  had  been  removed,  and 
only  wine  and  cigars  remained  ;  bottle  after  bottle  was  emptied 


BEULAH.  411 

and  finally  decanters  were  in  requisition.  T.ic  servants  siniiggea 
their  shoulders,  and  looked  on  with  amused  expectancy.  The 
conversation  grew  loud  and  boisterous,  now  and  then  flavored 
with  oaths  ;  twilight  came  on — the  shutters  were  closed — the 
magnificent  chandelier  lighted.  Eugene  seized  a  crystal  ic« 
bowl,  and  was  about  to  extract  a  lump  of  ice  when  it  fell  froa 
his  fingers  and  shivered  to  atoms.  A  roar  of  laughter  succeeded 
the  exploit,  and  uncorking  a  fresh  bottle  of  champagne,  he 
demanded  a  song.  Already  a  few  of  the  guests  were  leaning  on 
the  table  stupefied,  but  several  began  the  strain.  It  was 
a  genuine  Bacchanalian  ode,  and  the  deafening  shout  rose  to  the 
frescoed  ceiling  as  the  revellers  leaned  forward  and  touched  their 
glasses.  Touched,  did  I  say  ;  it  were  better  written  clashed. 
There  was  a  ringing  chorus  as  crystal  met  crystal;  glittering 
fragments  flew  in  every  direction  ;  c'own  ran  the  foaming  wine, 
thick  with  splintered  glass,  on  the  rosewood  table.  But  the 
strain  was  kept  up ;  fresh  glasses  were  supplied ;  fresh  bottles 
drained  ;  the  waiters  looked  on,  wondered  where  all  this  would 
end,  and  pointed  to  the  ruin  of  the  costly  service.  The  brilliant 
gaslight  shone  on  a  scene  of  recklessness  pitiable  indeed.  All 
were  young  men,  and,  except  Eugene,  all  unmarried  ;  but  they 
seemed  familiar  with  such  occasions.  One  or  two,  thoroughly 
intoxicated,  lay  with  their  heads  on  the  table,  unconscious  of 
what  passed  ;  others  struggled  to  sit  upright,  yet  the  shout 
was  still  raised  from  time  to  time. 

"  Fill  up,  and  let  us  have  that  glorious  song  from  Lucrezia 
Borgia.  Hey,  Proctor!"  cried  Eugene. 

'•  That  is  poor  fun  without  Vincent.  He  sings  it  equal  to 
Vestvali.  Fill  up  there,  Muuroe,  and  shake  up  Uowdon.  Come, 
gcgin,  and  " 

He  raised  his  glass  with  a  disgusting  oath,  and  was  about  t« 
Commence,  when  Munroe  said,  starameringly: 

"  Where  is  Fred,  anyhow  ?  He  is  a  devilish  fine  fellow  for  a 
frolic.  I " 

"Why,  gone  to  the  coast  with  Graham's  pretty  wife  He  u 
18* 


418  BE  UL  A  H. 

all  devotion  They  waltz  and  ride,  and  in  fine,  he  is  her  adrairel 
par  excellence.  Stop  your  stupid  stammering,  and  begin." 

Eugene  half  rose  at  this  insulting  mention  of  his  wife's  name^ 
t-ui  the  song  was  now  ringing  around  him,  and  sinking  back,  he, 
too,  raised  his  unsteady  voice.  Again  and  again,  the  words  were 
ac.dly  shouted;  and  then,  dashing  his  empty  glass  against  the 
Barbie  mantel,  Proctor  swore  he  would  not  drink  another  drop. 
What  a  picture  of  degradation!  Disordered  hair,  soiled  clothes, 
Hushed,  burning  cheeks,  glaring  eyes,  and  nerveless  hands. 
Eugene  attempted  to  rise,  but  fell  back  in  his  chair,  tearing  ofl 
his  cravat,  which  seemed  to  suffocate  him.  Proctor,  who  was 
too  thoroughly  inured  to  such  excesses  to  feel  it  as  sensibly  as 
the  remainder  of  the  party,  laughed  brutally,  and  kicking  over  a 
chair  which  stood  in  his  way,  grasped  his  host  by  the  arm,  and 
exclaimed  : 

"  Come  out  of  this  confounded  room;  it  is  as  hot  as  a  furnace; 
und  let  us  have  a  ride  to  cool  us.  Come.  Munroe  and  Cowdon 
must  look  after  the  others.  By  Jove,  Graham,  old  father  Bac- 
chus himself  could  not  find  fault  with  your  cellar.  Come." 

Each  took  a  cigar  from  the  stand,  and  descended  to  the  front 
door,  where  a  light  buggy  was  waiting  the  conclusion  of  the 
revel.  It  was  a  cloudless  July  night,  and  the  full  moon  poured 
a  flood  of  silver  light  over  the  silent  earth.  Proctor  assisted 
Eugene  into  the  buggy,  and  gathering  up  the  reins,  seized  the 
whip,  gave  a  flourish  and  shout,  and  off  sprang  the  spirited 
horse,  which  the  groom  could,  with  difficulty,  hold  until  the 
riders  were  seated. 

"  Now,  Graham,  I  will  bet  a  couple  of  baskets  of  Heidsick 
that  my  royal  Telegraph  will  make  the  first  mile  post  in  2:30. 
What  say  you  ?" 

"Done;  2:40  is  the  lowest." 

"Phew!  Telegraph,  my  jewel,  show  what  manner  of  fiesfc 
JK)I  are  made  of  Now,  then,  out  with  your  watch." 

He  shook  the  reins,  ai;d  the  horse  rushed  forward  like  an 
arrow.  Before  the  mile  post  was  reached,  it  became  evident 


BEULAH.  416 

that  Telegraph  had  taken  the  game  entirely  out  of  Lis  master's 
jands.  In  vain  the  reins  were  tightened.  Proctor  leaned  so  far 
!>ack  that  his  hat  fell  off.  Still  the  frantic  horse  sped  on.  The 
ir.ile  post  flashed  by,  but  Eugene  could  barely  sit  erect,  much 
less  note  the  time.  At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  the  whu 
of  Trheels  behind  gave  a  new  impetus  to  Telegraph's  flying  feet 
They  were  near  a  point  in  the  road  where  an  alley  led  off  a. 
right  angles,  and  thinking,  doubtless,  that  it  was  time  to  retrace 
his  steps,  the  horse  dashed  down  the  alley,  heedless  of  Proctor's 
efforts  to  restrain  him,  and  turning  into  a  neighboring  street 
rushed  back  toward  the  city.  Bareheaded,  and  with  heavj 
drops  of  perspiration  streaming  from  his  face,  Proctor  cursed, 
ind  jerked,  and  drew  the  useless  reins.  On  went  Telegraph, 
making  good  his  title,  now  swerving  to  this  side  of  the  road, 
«nd  now  to  that;  but  as  he  approached  a.  mass  of  bricks  which 
were  piled  on  one  side  of  the  street,  near  the  foundations  of  a 
Dew  building,  the  moonlight  flashed  upon  a  piece  of  tin,  in  the 
sand  on  the  opposite  side,  and  frightened  by  the  glitter,  he 
plunged  toward  the  bricks.  The  wheels  struck,  the  buggy 
tilted,  then  came  clown  again  with  a  terrible  jolt,  and  Eugene 
was  thrown  out  on  the  pile.  Proctor  was  jerked  over  the  dash- 
board, dragged  some  distance,  and  finally  left  in  the  sand,  while 
Telegraph  ran  on  to  the  stable. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock,  but  Beulah  was  writing  in  her  own 
room  ;  and  through  the  open  window,  heard  the  thundering 
tramp,  the  rattle  among  the  bricks,  Proctor's  furious  curses, 
and  surmised  that  some  accident  had  happened.  She  sprang  to 
the  window,  saw  the  buggy  just  as  it  was  wheeled  on,  and 
hoped  nothing  was  hurt.  But  Charon,  who  slept  on  the  portico, 
leaped  over  the  paling,  ran  around  the  bricks,  and  barked 
alarmingly.  She  unlocked  the  door,  saw  that  no  one  was  pass^ 
jig,  and  opening  the  little  gate,  looked  out.  Charon  stood 
watching  a  prostrate  form,  and  she  fearlessly  crossed  the  street 
%nd  bent  over  the  body.  One  arm  was  crushed  beneath  him, 
the  other  thrown  up  over  the  face.  She  recognized  the  watefr 


420  BECLAH. 

chain,  which  was  of  a  curious  pattern  ;  and,  for  an  fnstant,  tU 
objects  swam  before  her.  She  felt  faint;  her  heart  seemed  t« 
grow  icy  and  numb;  but  with  a  great  effort,  she  moved  the  arm, 
unci  looked  on  the  face,  gleaming  in  the  moonlight.  Trembling 
like  a  weed  in  a  wintry  blast,  she  knelt  beside  him.  He  wa? 
insensible,  but  not  dead;  though  it  was  evident  there  must  havfl 
been  some  severe  contusion  about  the  head.  She  saw  that  no 
time  should  be  lost,  and  running  into  one  of  the  neighboring 
houses,  knocked  violently.  The  noise  of  the  horse  and  bnggv 
had  already  aroused  the  inmates,  and  very  soon  the  motionless 
form  was  borne  into  Beulah's  little  cottage,  and  placed  Jn  a 
couch,  while  a  messenger  was  dispatched  for  Dr.  Asbury. 
Eugene  remained  just  as  they  placed  him;  and  kneeling  beside 
htm,  Beulah  held  his  cold  hands  in  hers,  and  watched,  in  almost 
breathless  anxiety,  for  some  return  of  animation.  She  knew  that 
he  was  intoxicated;  that  this,  and  this  only,  caused  the  acci- 
dent; and  tears  of  shame  and  commiseration  trickled  down  her 
cheeks.  Since  their  parting  interview,  previous  to  his  marriage, 
they  had  met  but  once,  and  then  in  silence,  beside  Cornelia  iu 
her  dying  hour.  It  was  little  more  than  a  year  since  she  had 
risked  his  displeasure,  and  remonstrated  with  him  on  his  ruinous 
course;  and  that  comparatively  short  period  had  wrought  pain- 
ful changes  in  his  once  noble,  handsome  face.  She  had  hoped 
that  Cornelia's  dying  prayer  would  save  him;  but  now,  alas,  it 
was  too  apparent  that  the  appeal  had  been  futile.  She  knew 
not  that  his  wife  was  absent,  and  determined  to  send  for  her  ai 
soon  as  possible.  The  long  hour  of  waiting  seemed  an  eternity, 
but,  at  last,  Dr.  Asbury  came,  and  carefully  examined  the 
bruised  limbs.  Beulah  grasped  his  arm. 

"Oh  1  will  he  die?" 

"  I  don't  know,  child  ;  this  arm  is  badly  fractured,  and  I  un 
Afraid  there  is  a  severe  injury  on  the  back  of  the  head.  It  won't 
ilo  to  move  him  home,  so  send  Hal  iu  from  my  buggy,  to  help 
pot  him  in  bed.  Have  me  some  bandages  at  once,  Beulah.'' 

As  they  carried  him  into  Mrs.  Williams'  room,  and  prepared 


B  E  TT  L  A  ff  .  42* 

to  cot  the  fractured  arm,  he  groaned,  and  for  a  m  )iuent  struggled, 
then  relapsed  into  a  heavy  stupor.  Dr.  Asbury  carefully  straight- 
ened and  bandaged  the  limb,  and  washed  the  blood  from  hii 
temples,  where  a  gash  had  been  inflicted  in  the  fall. 

"  Will  you  go  to  his  wife  at  once,  sir,  and  inform  her  of  hii 
rendition  ?"  said  Beulah,  who  stood  by  the  blood-stained  pillow, 
pale  and  anxious. 

"  Don't  you  know  his  wife  is  not  here  ?  She  has  gone  for  the 
summer  Wife  did  I  say  ?  she  does  not  deserve  the  sacred 
name  !  If  he  had  had  a  wife,  he  would  never  have  come  to  this 
ruin  and  disgrace.  It  is  nothing  more  than  I  expected  when  he 
married  her.  I  could  easily  put  her  soul  on  the  end  of  a  lancet, 
and  as  for  heart — she  has  none  at  all  ?  She  is  a  pretty  flirt, 
fonder  of  admiration  than  of  her  husband.  I  will  write  by  the 
earliest  mail,  informing  Graham  of  the  accident  and  its  possible 
consequences,  and  perhaps  respect  for  the  opinion  of  the  world 
may  bring  her  home  to  him.  Beulah,  it  is  a  difficult  matter  to 
believe  that  that  drunken,  stupid  victim  there  is  Eugene  Graham, 
who  promised  to  become  an  honor  to  his  friends  and  his  name. 
Satan  must  have  established  the  first  distillery  ;  the  institution 
smacks  of  the  infernal  !  Child,  keep  ice  upon  that  head,  will 
you,  and  see  that  as  soon  as  possible  he  takes  a  spoonful  of  the 
medicine  I  mixed  just  now.  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  many  days 
before  he  leaves  this  house.  If  he  lives,  the  only  consolation  is. 
that  it  may  be  a  lesson  and  warning  to  him.  I  will  be  back  iu 
an  lionr  or  so.  As  for  Proctor,  whom  I  met  limping  home,  it 
^rould  have  been  a  blessing  to  the  other  young  men  of  the  city, 
and  to  society  generally,  if  he  had  never  crawled  out  of  the 
sand  where  he  was  thrown." 

A  little  while  after,  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  heavy  sob, 
and  glancing  up,  Beulah  perceived  the  matron  standing  near  th« 
bed,  ";azit,g  at  the  sleeper. 

"  Oh,  that  he  should  come  to  this !  I  would  ten  thousand 
times  rather  he  had  died  in  his  unstained  boyhood.'' 

"  If  he  lives,  this  accident  may  be  his  salvation." 


£  BEULAH. 

"  God  grant  it  may  —  God  grant  it  may  !' 

Falling  on  her  knee?,  the  aged  woman  put  up  a  prayer  of  pas 
pionate  entreaty,  that  Almighty  God  would  spare  las  life,  and 
tave  him  from  a  drunkard's  fate. 

"  If  I,  too,  could  pray  for  him,  it  might  ease  my  aching  heart/ 
ihought  Beulah,  as  she  listened  to  the  imploring  words  of  the 
natron. 

And  why  not  1  Ah  1  the  murky  vapors  of  unbelief  shrouded 
tiie  All-Father  from  her  wandering  soul.  Dawn  looked  in  upon 
two  sorrowing  watchers  beside  that  stupid  slumberer,  and  showed 
that  the  physician's  fears  were  realized  ;  a  raging  fever  had  set 
In,  and  this  night  was  but  the  commencement  of  long  and  dreary 
Nigils.  About  noon,  Beulah  was  crossing  the  hall,  with  a  bowl 
of  ice  in  her  hand,  when  some  one  at  the  door  pronounced  her 
name,  and  Proctor  approached  her,  accompanied  by  Cowdon. 
She  had  once  met  the  former  at  Mr.  Graham's,  and  having  heard 
Cornelia  regret  the  miserable  influence  he  exerted  over  her 
brother,  was  prepared  to  receive  him  coldly. 

•'  \Ve  have  come  to  see  Graham,  madam,"  said  he,  shrink- 
fug  from  her  sad,  searching  eyes,  yet  assuming  an  air  of  haughty 
indifference. 

"  You  cannot  see  him,  sir." 

•'  But  I  toll  you,  I  must  !  I  shall  remove  him  to  his  own 
house,  where  he  can  be  properly  attended  to.  Where  is  he  T* 

•'  The  physician  particularly  urged  the  necessity  of  keeping 
everything  quiet,  lie  shall  not  be  disturbed  ;  but  as  he  ia 
unconscious,  perhaps  it  will  afford  you  some  gratification  to 
the  ruit  you  have  wrought.  Gentlemen,  here  is  your 


She  opened  the  door  and  suffered  them  to  stand  on  the 
threshold  and  look  at  the  prostrate  form,  with  the  head  envo- 
'oped  in  icy  cloths,  and  the  face  bloated  and  purplish  .from 
bruises  and  fever.  Neither  Proctor  nor  his  companion  could 
endure  the  smile  of  withering  contempt  which  curled  her  lips,  a« 
she  pointed  to  the  victim  of  their  temptations  and  influence,  an/ 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  423 

*ith  a  half-suppressed  imprecation,  Proctor  turned  on  his  bee* 
and  left  the  house.  Apparently  this  brief  visit  quite  satisfied  then> 
for  it  was  not  repeated.  Days  and  nights  of  unremitted  watch- 
ing ensued  ;  Eugene  was  wildly  delirious,  now  singing  snatchei 
of  drinking  songs,  and  waving  his  hand,  as  if  to  his  guests  ;  and 
now  bitterly  upbraiding  his  wife  for  her  heartlessness  and  folly 
The  confinement  of  his  fractured  arm  frenzied  him  ;  often  h* 
struggled  violently  to  free  himself,  fancying  that  he  was  incarcer 
ated  in  some  horrid  dungeon.  On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day 
after  the  accident,  a  carriage  stopped  at  the  cottage  gate,  and 
springing  out,  Mr.  Graham  hurried  into  the  house.  As  he 
entered  the  sick-room,  and  caught  sight  of  the  tossing  sufferer, 
a  groan  escaped  him,  and  he  covered  his  eyes  an  instant,  as  if 
vo  shut  out  the  vision.  Eugene  imagined  he  saw  one  of  the 
Heidelberg  professors,  and  laughing  immoderately,  began  a  rapid 
conversation  in  German.  Mr.  Graham  could  not  conceal  his 
emotion,  and,  fearing  its  effect  on  the  excitable  patient,  Beulah 
beckoned  him  aside,  and  warned  him  of  the  possible  conse- 
quences. He  grasped  her  hand,  and  asked  the  particulars  of 
the  occurrence,  which  had  been  mentioned  to  him  vaguely.  She 
told  him  the  account  given  by  Eugene's  servants  of  the  night's 
revel,  and  then  the  deuoument  in  front  of  her  door.  In  conclu- 
sion, she  said,  earnestly  : 

"  Where  is  his  wife  ?  Why  is  she  not  here  ?" 
"  She  seemed  to  think  she  could  render  no  assistance  ;  and 
fearing  that  all  would  be  over  before  we  could  get  here,  preferred 
my  coming  at  once,  and  writing  to  her  of  his  condition.  Ah  1 
she  is  miserably  fitted  for  such  scenes  as  you  must  have  wit- 
nessed." And  the  grey-haired  man  sighed  heavily. 

"  What  !  can  she  bear  to  commit  her  husband  to  other  handi 
at  such  a  crisis  as  this  ?  How  can  she  li*e  away  from  his  side, 
when  every  hour  may  be  his  last  ?  Oh  !  is  she  indeed  so  utterly, 
atterly  heartless,  selfish,  callous  ?  Poor  Eugene  !  better  find 
release  from  such  a  union  in  death,  than  go  through  life  bound 
to  a  wife  so  unhlushingly  indifferent !" 


*24  BEUl.AH. 

Her  face  was  one  flash  of  scorn  and  indignation,  and  extend 
ing  hor  hand  toward  the  restless  invalid,  she  continued  in  a  )ow<* 
tone  : 

"  She  has  deserted  her  sacred  post ;  but  a  truer,  better  friend 
one  who  has  always  loved  him  a^  a  brother,  will  supplj  her 
place.  All  that  a  sister's  care  can  do,  assuredly  he  shal1 
have." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Miss  Beulah  ;  my  family  are  under  last 
ing  obligations  to  you  for  your  generous  attentions  to  that  pooi 
boy  of  ours,  and  I " 

"  No.  You  understand  little  of  the  nature  of  our  friendship 
We  were  orphan  children,  warmly  attached  to  each  other,  befoft 
you  took  him  to  a  home  of  wealth  and  lavish  indulgence.  "Won 
he  my  own  brother,  I  could  not  feel  more  deeply  interested  ii 
his  welfare,  and  while  he  requires  care  and  nursing,  I  comudei  ii 
my  privilege  to  watch  over  and  guard  him.  There  is  Dr.  Asburj 
in  the  hall;  he  can  tell  you  better  than  I  of  his  pn  baU< 
recovery." 

Ah,  reader,  is 

"  Friendship  but  a  name  f 

A  charm  that  lulls  to  sleep, 

A  shade  that  follows  wealth  or  fame, 

And  leaves  the  wretch  to  weep?" 

Mr.  Graham  remained  at  the  cottage,  and  having  written  ct 
Antoinette  of  the  imminent  danger  in  which  he  found  her  hu» 
band,  urged  her  to  lose  no  time  in  joining  him.  Unluckily,  U 
was  ignorant  of  all  the  information  which  is  so  essential  in  lht 
occupation  of  nursing.  He  was  anxious  to  do  everything  in  hit 
power;  but,  like  the  majority  of  persons  on  such  occasions,  faikc 
wretchedly  in  his  attempts.  Almost  as  restless  and  nervous  M 
the  sick  man,  he  only  increased  the  difficulties  he  would  fail, 
have  reir  jdied,  and  Beulah  finally  prevailed  upon  him  to  aban- 
don his  efforts  and  leave  the  room,  where  his  constant  move- 
ments annoyed  and  irritated  the  sufferer.  Eugene  recognized  n« 


B  £  T  L  A  H  .  42! 

due,  but  his  eyes  followed  Reulah  continually  ;  and  when  bii 
delirium  was  at  its  height,  only  her  voice  and  clasp  of  his  hand 
could  in  any  degree  soothe  him.  In  his  ravings,  she  noticed  twc 
constantly  conflicting  emotions  :  a  stern  bitterness  of  feeling 
toward  his  wife,  and  an  almost  adoring  fondness  for  his  infant 
ehild.  Of  the  latter,  he  talked  incessantly,  and  vowed  that  sh(\ 
ftt  least,  should  lovs  him.  As  the  weary  days  crept  by,  Beulah 
started  at  every  sound,  fancying  that  the  wife  had  certainly 
come  ;  but  hour  after  hour  found  only  Mrs.  Williams  and  the 
orphan  guarding  the  deserted  husband.  Gradually  the  fever 
abated,  and  a  death-like  stupor  succeeded.  Mr.  Graham  stole 
about  the  house,  like  a  haunting  spirit,  miserable  and  useless, 
and  in  the  solemn  stillness  of  midnight  only  Beulah  sat  by  the 
pillow,  v.'here  a  head  now  rested  motionless  as  that  of  a 
coinse.  Mrs.  Williams  was  asleep  on  a  couch  at  the  oppo- 
Rite  end  of  the  room,  and  in  the  dim,  spectral  light  of  the 
fihade'l  lamp,  the  watcher  and  her  charge  looked  unearthly. 
Faint  from  constant  vigils,  Beulah  threw  her  arm  on  the  bed 
and  leaned  her  head  upon  it,  keeping  her  eyes  on  the  colorless 
face  before  her.  Who  that  has  watched  over  friends,  hovering 
upon  the  borders  of  the  spirit-land,  needs  to  be  told  how  dreary 
was  the  heart  of  the  solitary  nurse  ?  And  to  those  who  have 
not  thus  suffered  and  endured,  no  description  would  adequately 
portray  the  desolation  and  gloom. 

The  stars  were  waning,  when  Eugene  moved,  threw  up  hK 
band  over  the  pillow,  and,  after  a  moment,  opened  his  eyes. 
Beulah  leaned  forward,  and  he  looked  at  her  fixedly,  as  if  puz- 
»bd  ;  then  said,  feebly  : 
:  Beulah,  is  it  you  ?" 

A  cry  cf  joy  rolled  to  her  lips,  but  she  hushed  it,  and  answered 
irembling'.y  : 

"  Yes,  Eugene,  it  is  Beulah." 

His  eyes  wandered  about  the  room,  and  then  rested  again  of 
htr  countenance,  witli  a  confused,  perplexed  expression. 

"Ami  at  home  ?     What  is  the  matter  ?" 


I2fl  EBFLAH. 

"  Yes.  Eugene,  at  home  among  your  best  friends.  Don't  talk 
any  more  ;  try  to  sleep  again." 

With  a  great  joy  in  her  heart,  she  extinguished  the  light,  so 
that  he  could  see  nothing.  After  a  few  moments  he  said, 
•lowly  : 

"  Benlah,  did  I  dream  I  saw  you  ?  Beulah  1"  She  felt  hii 
tmnd  put  out,  as  if  to  feel  for  her. 

"  No,  I  am  sitting  by  you,  but  will  not  talk  to  you  now.  Yon 
ttu::>t  keep  quiet." 

There  was  a  short  silence. 
• "  But  where  am  I  ?     Not  at  home,  I  know." 

She  did  not  reply,  and  he  repeated  the  question  more  earnestly. 

"  You  are  in  my  house,  Eugene  ;  let  that  satisfy  you." 

Hi.3  fingers  closed  over  hers  tightly,  and  soon  he  slept. 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  sky  when  he  again  unclosed  his  eyes 
i;nd  found  Dr.  Asbury  feeling  his  pulse.  His  mind  was  still 
bewildered,  and  he  looked  around  him,  wonderiugly. 

"  How  do  you  feel,  Graham  ?"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Feel  !  as  if  I  had  been  standing  on  my  head.  What  is  the 
matter  with  me,  doctor  !  Have  I  been  sick  ?" 

"  \Vcll — yes;  you  have  not  been  exactly  well,  and  feel  stupid 
after  a  long  nap.  Take  a  spoonful  of  this  nectar  I  have 
prepared  for  you.  No  wry  faces,  man  !  It  will  clear  your 
head  ?" 

Eugene  attempted  to  raise  himself,  but  fell  back  exhausted, 
while,  for  the  first  time,  he  noticed  his  arm  firmly  incased  in  wood 
and  bandages. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  my  arm  ?  Why,  I  can'' 
oiove  it.  I  should  " 

"  Oh,  don't  trouble  yourself,  Graham;  you  injured  it,  and  I 
bound  it  up,  that  is  all.  When  gentlemen  amuse  themselves 
with  such  gymnastic  feats  as  you  performed,  they  must  expect  a 
little  temporary  inconvenience  from  crushed  bones  and  over« 
strained  muscles  Beulah,  mind  my  directions  about  silence  and 
quiet." 


BETJLAH.  427 

The  doctor  walked  oat  to  escape  farther  questioning.  Eugene 
looked  at  his  useless,  stiffened  arm,  and  then  at  Beulai,  saying 
anxiously  : 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  me  ?" 

"  You  were  thrown  out  of  a  buggy,  and  fractured  7001  arcs 
fa  the  fail." 

She  thought  it  best  to  tell  the  truth  at  once. 

Memory  flew  back  to  her  deserted  throne,  and  dimly  tne 
events  of  that  evening's  revel  passed  through  his  mind.  A  flush 
of  shame  rose  to  his  temples,  and  turning  his  head  toward  the 
wall,  he  hid  lib  face  in  the  pillow.  Then  Beulah  heard  a  deep, 
shuddering  sigh,  and  a  groan  of  remorseful  agony.  After  a  long 
silence,  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  humiliation  that  drew  tears  to  hei 
tyes: 

"  How  long  have  I  been  here  ?" 

She  told  him  the  number  of  days,  and  he  immediately  asked  : 

"  Have  I  been  in  any  danger  ?" 

"  Yes,  very  great  danger  ;  but  that  has  all  passed  now,  and  if 
f  ou  will  only  be  composed  and  careful  you  will  soon  be  strong 


"  I  heard  my  father  talking  to  you,  who  else  is  here  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  with  eager  interest. 

"  No  one  else,  except  our  kind  matron.  Mr.  Graham  came  aa 
soon  as  the  letter  reached  him,  and  has  not  left  the  house 
since." 

A  look  of  indescribable  sorrow  and  shame  swept  rver  hia 
Countenance,  as  he  continued  bitterly  : 

"  And  did  Antoinette  know  all  at  once  ?  Stop,  Beulah,  te'J 
me  the  miserable  truth.  Did  she  know  all,  and  still  remain 
away  ?" 

"  She  knew  all  that  had  been  communicated  to  Mr.  Graham, 
when  he  came  ;  and  he  has  written  to  her  everyday  He  is  now 
writing  to  inform  her  that  you  are  better." 

She  shrank  from  giving  the  pain  she  was  conseic^  her  wordi 
Inflicted. 


428  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

"  I  deserve  it  all  !  Yes,  ingratitude,  indifference,  and  desc? 
Uon  !  If  I  had  died,  she  would  have  heard  it  unmoved.  Oh 
Cornelia,  Cornelia,  it  is  a  fearful  retribution  ;  more  bitter  than 
death!"  Averting  his  face,  his  whole  frame  trembled  with  ill 
concealed  emotion. 

"  Eugene,  you  must  compose  yourself.  Remember  you  jeepai 
ilize  your  life  by  this  sort  of  excitement." 

"  Why  didn't  you  let  me  die  ?  What  have  I  to  live  for  ?  A 
name  disgraced,  and  a  wife  unloving  and  heartless  !  What  haa 
the  future  but  wretchedness  and  shame  ?" 

"  Not  unless  you  will  it  so.  You  should  want  to  live  to  re- 
trieve your  character,  to  lake  an  honorable  position,  which, 
hitherto,  you  have  recklessly  forfeited  ;  to  make  the  world 
respect  you,  your  wife  revere  you,  and  your  child  feel  that  she 
may  be  proud  of  her  father  I  Ah,  Eugene,  all  this  the  futuro 
calls  you  to  do." 

He  looked  up  at  her  as  she  stood  beside  him,  pale,  thin,  and 
weary,  and  his  feeble  voice  faltered,  as  he  asked  : 

"  Beuluh,  my  best  friend,  my  sister,  do  you  quite  der.pisn 
me?" 

She  laid  her  hands  softly  on  his,  anu  stooping  down  pressed 
her  lips  to  his  forehead. 

"  Eugene,  once  I  feared  that  you  had  fallen  even  below  my 
pity  ;  but  now  I  believe  you  will  redeem  yourself.  I  hope  thai 
thoroughly  reformed,  you  will  command  the  respect  of  all  who 
know  you,  and  realize  the  proud  aspirations  I  once  indulged  for 
you.  That  you  can  do  this  I  feel  assured;  that  you  will,  I  do  most 
sincerely  trust.  I  have  not  yet  lost  faith  in  you,  Eugene.  I  hope 
still." 

She  left  him  to  ponder  in  solitude  the  humiliatirg  result  of  bit 
course  of  dissipation. 


BBC7LAH  429 


CHAPTER      XXXIV. 

Tas  hours  of  gradual  convalescence  were  very  trjn.'g  to  Ecu 
&h,  now  that  the  sense  of  danger  no  longer  nerved  her  to  almost 
superhuman  endurance  and  exertion.  Mr.  Graham  waited  until 
bis  adopted  son  was  able  to  sit  up,  and  then  returned  to  the 
watering-place,  where  his  wife  remained.  Thus  the  entire  charge! 
of  the  invalid  devolved  on  the  tireless  friends  who  had  watched  i 
over  him  in  the  hour  of  peril.  Beulah  had  endeavored  to  banish  1 
die  sorrow  that  pressed  so  heavily  on  her  heart,  ancf  to  dispel  the 
gloom  and  despondency  which  seemed  to  have  taken  possession 
of  the  deserted  husband.  She  read,  talked,  sang  to  him,  and 
constantly  strove  to  cheer  him,  by  painting  a  future  in  which 
the  past  was  to  be  effectually  cancelled.  Though  well-nigh  ex- 
hausted by  incessant  care  and  loss  of  sleep,  she  never  complained 
uf  weariness,  and  always  forced  a  smile  of  welcome  to  her  lips 
when  the  invalid  had  his  chair  wheeled  to  her  side,  or  tottered 
out  into  the  dining-room  to  join  her.  One  morning  in  August, 
p.he  sat  on  tho  little  gallery  at  the  rear  of  the  house,  with  a  table 
before  her,  engaged  in  drawing  some  of  the  clusters  of  blue, 
white,  and  pink  convolvulus  which  festooned  the  pillars  and 
ballustrade.  Eugene  sat  near  her,  with  his  thin  face  leaned  OD 
bis  hand,  his  thoughts  evidently  far  removed  from  flowers 
Qis  arm  was  still  in  a  sling,  and  he  looked  emaciated  and  deject- 
ed. Mrs.  Williams  had  been  talking  to  him  cheerfully  about 
some  money  matters  he  had  promised  to  arrange  for  her,  so  soon 
as  he  was  well  enough  to  go  to  his  office;  but,  gathering  up  her 
working  materials,  the  old  lady  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  the 
fcwo  sat  for  some  time  in  silence.  One  of  his  long-drawn  sighs 
arrested  Bculah's  attention,  and  she  said,  kindly: 

"  What  is  the  matter,   brother    mine  ?     Are   you  tired    til 


430  BfcULAH. 

watching  my  clumsy  fingers  ?  Shall  I  finish  that  essay  of 
Macaulay's  you  were  so  much  interested  in  yesterday,  or  will 
you  have  another  of  Bryant's  poems  ?•'  She  laid  down  hei 
pencil,  quite  ready  to  divert  his  mind  by  reading. 

"  No,  do  not  quit  your  draw  ing  ;  I  should  not  enjoy  eves 
Macaulay  to-day." 

lie  threw  his  head  back,  and  sighed  again. 

"  Why,  Eugene  ?  Don't  you  feel  as  well  as  usual  this  morn- 
Ing?  Remember  your  family  will  arrive  to-day  ;  you  should  be 
the  happiest  man  living." 

"  Oh,  Beulah  1  don't  mock  me.  I  cannot  bear  it.  My  life 
Beems  a  hopeless  blank." 

"  You  ought  not  to  talk  so  despoudingly  ;  you  have  everything 
to  live  for.  liouse  your  energies.  Be  indeed  a  man.  Conquer 
this  weak,  repining  spirit.  Dou't  you  remember  the  motto  ou 
t  ue  tombstone  at  St.  Gilgen  ? 


'  Look  not  mournfully  on  the  post — it  conies  not  back ; 
Eujoy  the  present — it  is  thine. 
Go  forth  to  meet  the  shadowy  future, 
With  a  manly  heart,  and  without  fear.'" 


•'  You  know  little  of  what  oppresses  me.     It  is  the  knowledge 

of  my ,  of  Antoinette's  indifference,  which  makes  the  futuro 

BO  joyless,  so  desolate.  Beulah,  this  has  caused  my  rum 
When  I  stood  by  Cornelia's  coffin,  and  recalled  her  last  frantic 
appeal  ;  when  I  looked  down  at  her  cold  face,  and  remembered 
her  devoted  love  for  her  unworthy  brother,  I  vowed  never  to 
touch  wine  again  ;  to  absent  myself  from  the  associates  who 
bad  led  me  to  dissipation.  Beulah,  I  was  honest,  and  intended 
to  reform  from  that  hour.  But  Antoinette's  avowed  coldness, 
or,  to  call  it  by  its  oroper  name,  heartless  selfishness,  and  fond- 
ness for  admiration,  first  disgusted,  and  then  maddened  me.  I 
would  have  gladly  spent  my  evenings  quietly,  in  our  elegaut 
home,  but  she  contrived  to  have  it  crowded  with  visitors,  ai 


BEULAH.  431 

soulless  and  frivolous  as  herself.  I  remonstrated,  she  was  sneer 
:i>g,  defiant,  and  miyieldiug,  and  assured  me,  she  would  '  amuse 
herself  as  she  thought  proper;  I  followed  her  example,  and  \vcn1 
back  to  the  reckless  companions,  who  continually  beset  my  path 
I  was  miserably  deceived  in  Antoinette's  character.  She  wo* 
»f-iy  beautiful,  and  I  was  blind  to  her  mental,  nay,  I  may  ai  / 
well  say  it  at  once,  her  moral  defects.  I  believed  she  was 
warmly  attached  to  me,  and  I  loved  her  most  devotedly.  But 
no  sooner  were  we  married,  than  I  discovered  my  blind  rashness. 
Cornelia  warned  me,  but  what  man,  fascinated  by  a  beautiful 
girl,  ever  listened  to  counsels  that  opposed  his  heart  ?  Antoi 
uette  is  too  intensely  selfish  to  love  anything,  or  anybody  but 
herself ;  she  docs  not  even  love  her  child.  Strange  as  it  may 
seem,  she  is  too  entirely  engrossed  by  her  weak  fondness  for  dis- 
play and  admiration,  even  to  caress  her  babe.  Except  at 
breakfast  and  dinner,  we  rarely  meet,  and  then,  unless  company 
is  present  (which  is  generally  the  case),  our  intercourse  ia 
studiedly  cold.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  am  hopeless  in  view  of  a 
life,  passed  with  such  a  companion  ?  Oh,  that  I  could  blot  oat 
the  last  two  years  of  my  existence  1" 

He  groaned,  and  shaded  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  But,  Eugene,  probably  your  reformation  and  altered  course 
will  win  you  your  wife's  love  and  reverence,"  suggested  Bculah, 
anxious  to  offer  some  incentive  to  exertion. 

"  I  know  her  nature  too  well   to  hope  that.     A  woman  who*"? 
pilfers  to  dance  and  ride  with  gentlemen,  rather  than  remain  in 
her  luxurious  home,  with  her  babe  and  her  duties,  cannot  bo    ' 
won  from  her  moth-like   life.     No,  no  !  I  despair  of  happiness  j 
from  her  society  and  affection,  and  if  at  all,  must  derive  it  from 
r-ther  sources.      My  child  is  the  oue  living  blossom  amidst  all  my 
?,-ilhered  hopes,  she  is  the  only  treasure  I   have,  except  y  DUI 
friendship.     She  shall  ne?er  blush  for  her  father's  degradation. 
Henceforth,  though  an  unhappy  man,  I  shall  prove  myself  a 
temperate  one.     I  cannot  trust  my  child's  education  to  Ant)i 
oette,  she  is  unworthy  the  sacred  charge  ;  I  must  fit.  myself  t< 


482  BEULAH. 

form  her  character.  Oh,  Beulali,  if  I  could  make  her  saeh  • 
woman  as  you  are,  then  I  could  indeed  bear  my  lot  patiently!  I 
Darned  her  Cornelia,  but  henceforth,  she  shall  be  called  Bculah 
also,  in  token  of  her  father's  gratitude  to  his  truest  friend." 

"  Nc.  Eugene,  call  her  not  after  me,  lest  some  of  my  sorrows 
rvrne  upon  her  young  head.  Oh,  no  !  name  her  not  Beulali : 
«!  her  be  called  Cornelia.  I  would  not  have  her  soul  shrouded 
»s  mine  has  been."  Beulali  spoke  vehemently,  and  laying  her 
band  on  his  arm,  she  added  : 

"  Eugene,  to-cky  you  will  leave  me,  and  go  back  to  your  own 
Douse,  to  your  family  ;  but  before  you  go,  I  ask  you,  if  not  for 
your  sake,  for  that  of  your  child,  to  promise  me  solemnly,  that 
you  will  never  again  touch  intoxicating  drinks  of  .any  kind 
Oh,  will  you  promise  ?  Will  you  reform  entirely  ?" 

There  was  a  brief  pause,  and  he  answered  slowly  : 

"  I  promise,  Beulah.  Nay,  my  friend,  I  swear  I  will  abstain 
in  future.  Ah,  I  will  never  disgrace  my  angel  child  1  Never, 
BO  help  me  heaven  1" 

The  sound  of  approaching  steps  interrupted  the  conversatiou, 
nnd  expecting  to  see  Antoinette  and  her  infant,  accompanied  b; 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Graham,  Beulah  looked  up  quickly,  and  per 
ceived  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"  Does  my  advent  startle  you,  that  you  look  so  pale  and 
breathless  ?"  said  he,  smiling,  as  he  took  her  hand. 

"  I  am  certainly  very  much,  surprised  to  see  you  here,  sir." 

"  And  I  am  heartily  glad  you  have  come,  Reginald,"  cried 
Eugene,  returning  his  friend's  tight  clasp. 

'•  I  intended  coining  to  nurse  you,  Graham,  as  soon  as  I  heard 
of  the  accident,  but  my  mother's  illness  prevented  my  leaving 
home.  I  need  not  ask  about  your  arm,  I  see  it  still  requires 
3»ations  handling  ;  but  how  are  you  otherwise  ?  Regaining 
jroar  strength,  1  hope  ?" 

''  Yes,  gradually.    I  am  better  than  I  deserve  to  be,  Reginald.'7 

"  That  remains  to  be  proved  in  future,  Graham.  Come,  get 
well  a&  rapidly  as  possible  ;  I  h&ve  a  plan  to  submit  to  you,  tb» 


B  E  D  L  A  H  .  > 

earliest  day  you  are  strong  enough  to  discuss  business  topics. 
Miss  Benlah  let  me  sharpen  your  pencil." 

He  took  it  from  her,  trimmed  it  carefully,  and  handed  it  back; 
then  drew  her  portfolio  near  him,  and  glanced  over  the  numerous 
unfinished  sket3hes. 

<!  I  have  several  books,  filled  with  European  sketches,  which, 
I  think,  might  afford  you  some  pleasure.  They  were  taken  by 
different  persons  ;  and  some  of  the  views  on  the  Rhine,  and 
particularly  some  along  the  southern  shore  of  Spain,  are  unsur- 
passed by  any  I  have  seen.  You  may  receive  them  some  day, 
after  I  return." 

"  Thank  you,  I  shall  copy  them  with  great  pleasure." 

"  I  see  you  ai<j  not  as  much  of  a  pyrrhonist  in  art  as  in  philo- 
sophy," said  Mr.  Lindsay,  washing  her  countenance  as  she  bent 
over  her  drawing 

"  Who  told  yon,  sir,  that  I  was  one  in  any  department  T'  She 
Cooked  up  suddenly,  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  be  told.     I  can  readily  perceive  it." 

"  Your  penetration  is  at  fault  then.  Of  all  others,  the  charge 
of  pyrrhonism  is  the  last  I  merit." 

He  smiled,  and  said,  quietly  : 

1  What,  then,  is  your  aesthetic  creed,  if  I  may  inquire  I" 

"  It  is  nearly  allied  to  Cousin's." 

"I  thought  you  had  abjured  eclecticism;  yet  Cousin  is  ita    \// 
apostle.     Once  admit  his  theory  of  the  beautiful,  and  you  cannot 
reject  his  psychology  and  ethics  ;  nay,  his  theodicea  ?" 

"  I  do  not  desire  to  separate  his  system  ;  as  such  I  receive  it."  ( 

Beulah  compressed  her  lips  firmly,  and  looked  at  her  interro-  " 
gator  half  defiantly. 

"  You  deliberately  shut  your  eyes,  then,  to  the  goal  his  philo-. 
•ophy  sets  before  you  ?" 

14  No,  I  am  nearing  the  goal,  looking  steadily  toward  it."  She 
•poke  hastily,  and  with  an  involuntary  wrinkling  of  her  brow. 

"And  that  gual  is  pantheism  ;  draped  gorgeously,  but  panthe- 
ku  still,"  answered  Mr.  Lindsay,  with  solemn  emphasis. 
19 


434  B  E  U  L  A  H  , 

"  No  ;  bis  whole  psychology  is  opposed  to  pantheism  I"  cried 
Beulah,  pushing  aside  her  drawing  materials,  and  meeting  his 
eyes  fixedly. 

"You  probably  attach  undue  weight  to  his  assertion  that, 
although  God  passes  into  the  universe,  or  therein  manifests  ali 
the  elements  of  his  being,  he  is  not  '  exhausted  in  the  act '  New, 
granting,  for  the  sake  of  argument,  that  God  is  not  entire!? 
absorbed  in  the  universe,  Cousin's  pet  doctrine  of  the  '  Sponta- 
neous Apperception  of  Absolute  Truths,'  clearly  renders  man  a 
modification  of  God.  Difference  in  degree,  you  know,  implies 
sameness  of  kind  ;  from  this  there  is  no  escape  He  says,  '  the 
God  of  consciousness  is  not  a  solitary  sovereign,  banished  beyonu 
creation,  upon  the  throne  of  a  silent  eternity,  and  an  absolute 
existence,  which  resembles  existence  in  no  respect  whatever.  lie 
is  a  God,  at  once  true  and  real,  substance  and  cause,  one  and 
many,  eternity  and  time,  .essence  and  life,  end  and  middle  ;  at 
the  summit  of  existence,  and  at  its  base,  infinite  and  finite  toge- 
ther ;  in  a  word,  a  Trinity  ;  being  at  the  same  time,  God, 
Nature  and  Humanity.'  His  separation  of  reason  and  reasoning, 
and  the  results  of  his  boasted  '  spontaneous  apperception,  are 
very  nearly  allied  to  those  of  Schelling's  '  Intellectual  Intuition  ;' 
yet  I  suppose  you  would  shrink  from  the  '  absolute  identity '  of 
the  latter  ?" 

"You  have  not  stated  the  question  fairly,  sir.  Ho  reiterates 
that  the  absolute  belongs  to  none  of  us.  We  perceive  truth, 
but  do  not  create  it  !"  retorted  Beulah. 

"You  will  perhaps  remember  his  saying,  explicitly  that  we 
can  comprehend  the  Absolute  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  recollect ;  and  moreover,  he  declares  that  '  we  are 
•ouducted  to  God  by  a  ray  of  his  own  being.' " 

"  Can  limited  faculties  comprehend  the  infinite  and  eternal 
creator  ?" 

"  We  do  not  attain  a  knowledge  of  him  through  finite  chaa 
nels.  Cousin  contends  that  it  is  by  means  of  relation  to  tkf 
absolute  that  we  know  God." 


E  E  C  L  A  B  .  431 

"  Then  to  know  the  absolute,  or  God,  you  must  be  tbe  abso- 
lute :  or,  iu  other  words,  God  ouly  can  find  God.  This  is  the 
simple  doctrine,  when  you  unwind  the  veil  he  has  cleverly  hunjv 
OV3r  it.  True,  he  denounces  pantheism  ;  but  here  is  pantheism 
of  the  eclectic  patent,  differing  from  that  of  other  systems  3nl? 
n  subtlety  of  expression,  wherein  Cousin  certainly  excels.  One 
Of  the  most  profound  philosophical  writers  of  the  age,*  and  one 
whose  opinion  on  this  point  certainly  merits  careful  consideration, 
has  remarked,  in  an  analysis  of  Cousin's  system,  '  with  regard  to 
his  notion  of  Deity,  we  have  already  shown  how  closely  this 
verges  upon  the  principle  of  Pantheism.  Even  if  we  admit  that 
it  is  not  a  doctrine,  like  that  of  Spinoza,  which  identifies  God 
with  the  abstract  idea  of  substance  ;  or  even  like  that  of  Hegel, 
which  regards  Deity  as  synonymous  with  the  absolute  law  and 
process  of  the  universe  ;  if  we  admit,  in  fact,  that  the  Deity  of 
Cousin  possesses  a  conscious  personality,  yet  still  it  is  one  which 
contains  in  itself  the  infinite  personality  and  consciousness  of 
every  subordiwate  mind.  God  is  the  ocean — we  are  but  the 
waves  ;  the  ocean  may  be  one  individuality,  and  each  wave 
another  ;  but  still  they  are  essentially  one  and  the  same.  We 
see  not  how  Cousin's  Theism  can  possibly  be  consistent  with  any 
idea  of  moral  evil ;  neither  do  we  see  how,  starting  from  such  ^ 
dogma,  he  can  ever  vindicate  and  uphold  his  own  theory  of 
human  liberty.  On  such  theistic  principles,  all  sin  must  be  sim 
ply  defect,  and  all  defect  must  be  absolutely  fatuitous.'  Eclec-..J 
ticism  was  a  beautiful,  but  frail  levee,  opposed  to  the  swollen 
tide  of  skepticism,  and  as  in  every  other  crevasse,  when  swept 
away,  it  only  caused  the  stream  to  rush  on  more  madly." 

He  watched  her  closely  as  he  spoke,  and  observed  the  quiver 
of  her  long,  curling  lashes  ;  he  saw,  too,  that  she  was  resolved 
cot  to  surrender,  and  waited  for  an  explicit  defence  ;  but  her« 
Eugene  interrupted : 

"  All  this  tweedle-dum  and  tweedle-dee  reminds  me  of  Heidel 

•  J    D.  MorelL     Speculative  Philosophy  of  Europe 


*36  BEULAH. 

oerg  days,  when  a  few  of  us  roamed  aboat  the  Oden»vald,  3hoj> 
ping  off  flowers  with  our  canes  and  discussing  philosophy.  Raw 
jargon  we  made  of  it  ;  talking  of  cosinothetic  idealism,  or  hyp* 
theti'-al  dualism,  of  noetic,  and  dianoetic  principles,  of  hylozoism, 
and  hypostasis,  and  demonstrating  the  most  nndemcnstrable  pro- 
positions by  appeals  to  the  law  of  contradiction,  or  of  excluded 
middle.  I  fancied  then  that  I  was  growing  very  learned — won- 
dered whether  Beulah  here  would  be  able  to  keep  up  with  me, 
and  really  thought  I  understood  what  I  discoursed  about  so 
logically." 

"  You  can  at  least  console  yourself,  Graham,  by  determining 
that 

"  '  You  know  what's  what,  and  that's  as  high 
As  rnetaphysic  wit  can  fly.' 

I  imagine  there  are  very  few  of  us  who  would  agree  with  some 
of  our  philosophers,  that  '  the  pursuit  of  truth  is  far  more  im- 
portant than  the  attainment  thereof — that  philosophizing  id 
more  valuable  than  philosophy.  To  be  conversant  with  tho 
abstractions  which,  in  the  hands  of  some  metaphysical  giants, 
have  rendered  both  mind  and  matter  like  abstractions,  is  a 
course  of  proceeding  I  should  scarcely  indorse  ;  and  the  best 
antidote  I  remember  just  now  to  any  such  web-spinning  proclivi- 
\tics  is  a  perusal  of  the  three  first  lectures  of  Sidney  Smith  on 
*'  Moral  Philosophy.'  In  recapitulating  the  tenets  of  the  schools, 
be  says  :  'The  speculations  of  many  of  the  ancients  on  the  human 
understanding  are  so  confused,  and  so  purely  hypothetical,  that 
their  greatest  admirers  are  not  agreed  upon  their  meaning  ;  and 
whenever  we  can  procure  a  plain  statement  of  their  doctrines, 
all  other  modes  of  refuting  them  appear  to  be  wholly  super- 
fluous.' Miss  Beulah,  I  especially  commend  you  to  these  humor- 
ous lectures."  lie  bowed  to  her  with  easy  grace. 

"  I  have  them,  sir — have  read  them  with  great  pleasure,"  said 
Beulah,  smi'ing  at  his  droll  manner  of  mingled  reserve  and 
freedom. 

"  What  an  exalted  estimate  that  same   incorrigible  Sidnej 


B  E  U I  1  F  . 

rnnst  have  placed  upon  the  public  taste  of  this  republican  land 
of  ours  ?  In  one  of  his  lectures  on  '  the  beauty  of  form.'  I 
ff  member  he  says  :  'A  chin  ending  in  a  very  sharp  angle;woulJ 
be  a  perfect  deformity.  A  man  whose  chin  terminated  in  a 
point  would  be  under  the  immediate  necessity  of  retiring  to 
America — he  would  be  such  a  perfect  horror  !'  Decidedly  flat- 
tering to  our  national  type  of  beauty."  As  Eugene  spoke  his 
lips  wore  a  smile  more  akin  to  those  of  his  boyhood  than  any 
Beulah  had  seen  since  his  return  from  Europe. 

"  Yes,  that  was  to  show  the  influence  of  custom,  be  it  remem- 
bered ;  and  in  the  same  connection,  he  remarks,  honestly  enough, 
that  he  '  hardly  knows  what  a  Grecian  face  is  ;  but  things  it 
very  probable  that  if  the  elegant  arts  had  been  transmitted  to 
us  from  the  Chinese,  instead  of  the  Greeks,  that  singular  piece 
of  deformity — a  Chinese  nose — would  have  been  held  in  nigh 
estimation.'  It  was  merely  association." 

"  Which  I  don't  believe  a  word  of,"  cried  Beulah,  appropri- 
ating the  last  as  a  lunge  at  her  favorite  absolutism.  Rising,  she 
placed  her  drawings  in  the  portfolio,  for  the  sun  had  crept  round 
the  corner  of  the  gallery,  and  was  shining  in  her  face. 

Mr.  Lindsay  smiled,  without  replying,  and  gave  his  arm  to 
assist  Eugene  into  the  house.  They  were  comfortably  seated  in 
the  dining-room,  and  Beulah  knew  that  the  discussion  was  about 
to  be  renewed,  when  a  carriage  dashed  up  to  the  door.  Eugene 
turned  pale,  and  a  sudden  rigidity  seized  his  features.  Beulah 
gave  her  guest  a  quick,  meaning  glance,  and  retreated  to  the 
gallery,  whither  he  instantly  followed  her,  leaving  Eugene  to 
receive  his  wife  without  witnesses.  Leaning  against  one  of  th« 
pillars,  Beulah  unfastened  a  wreath  of  blue  convolvulus  wnick 
Mrs.  Williams  had  twined  in  her  hair  an  hour  before.  The 
delicate  petals  were  withered,  and  with  a  suppressed  sigh,  sh« 
threw  them  away.  Mr.  Lindsay  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket, 
and  handed  it  to  her,  saying  briefly  : 

"  I  was  commissioned  to  give  yon  this,  and  knowing  the  COD 
tents,  hope  a  favorable  answer." 


438  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

It  was  from  Clara,  urging  her  to  come  up  the  following  week 
ttnd  officiate  as  bridesmaid  at  her  wedding.  She  could  return 
Lome  with  Helen  and  George  Asbury.  Beulah.  read  the  letter, 
smiled  sadly,  and  put  it  in  her  pocket. 

"  Will  you  go  ?" 

'•  No,  sir." 

•  Why  not  ?  You  need  a  change  of  air,  and  the  uip  would 
benefit  you.  You  do  not  probably  know  how  much  you  have 
altered  in  appearance  since  I  saw  you.  My  uncle  is  coming  out 
to  persuade  you  to  go.  Can't  I  succeed  without  his  aid  ?" 

"  I  could  not  leave  home  now.  Eugene's  illness  has  prevented 
my  accomplishing  some  necessary  work,  and  as  I  consign  him  to 
other  hands  to-day,  I  must  make  amends  for  my  long  indolence. 
Thank  you  for  taking  charge  of  my  letter,  but  I  cannot  think  of 
going." 

lie  perceived  that  no  amount  of  persuasion  would  avail,  and 
for  an  instant  a  look  of  annoyance  crossed  his  face.  But  his 
DVOW  cleared  as  he  said,  with  a  smile  : 

"  For  a  year  I  have  watched  for  your  articles,  and  the  maga- 
p.uu  is  ?  constant  companion  of  my  desk.  Sometimes  I  am 
tempted  •  o  criticise  your  sketches  ;  perhaps  I  may  do  so  yet, 
ai,d  that  'n  no  Boswell  spirit  either." 

''  Dou1  tlcss,  sir,  you  would  find  them  very  vulnerable  to  criti- 
cism, wl  ]ch  now-a-days  has  become  a  synonym  for  fault-finding  ; 
-  at  least  Vnis  carping  proclivity  characterizes  the  class,  who  seem 
desiror-  only  of  earning  reputation  as  literary  Jeffreys.  I  am 
aware,  sir,  that  I  am  very  vulnerable." 

"  Suppose,  then,  that  at  the  next  month's  literary  assize  (as  yon 
seen  disposed  to  consider  it),  you  find  in  some  of  the  magazines 
%  severe  animadversion  upon  the  spirit  of  your  writings  ?  Dart 
I  do  this,  and  still  hope  for  your  friendship  ?" 

He  watched  her  closely. 

"Certa.nly,  sir.  I  am  not  writing  merely  to  see  myself  it 
print,  no'  wholly  for  remuneration  in  dollars  and  cents.  I  am 
earnestly  'earching  for  truth,  and  if  in  my  articles  you  discover 


B  B  U  L  A  H  .  43} 

error  and  can  correct  it,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  do  so,  pro- 
vided you  adopt  the  Catholic  spirit,  which  should  distinguish 
such  undertakings.  Now,  if  you  merely  intend  to  hold  me  up  fo» 
ridicule,  as  thoroughly  as  possible,  I  prefer  that  you  let  me  and 
my  articles  rest  ;  but  a  calm,  dispassionate  criticism  I  should 
uot  shrink  from.  I  write  only  what  I  believe,  and  if  I  am  io 
brror,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  it  corrected." 

"  Miss  Benton,  may  I  venture  to  correct  it  without  having 
recourse  to  the  vehicle  of  public  criticism  ?  Will  you  permit  me 
to  discuss  with  you,  here  in  your  quiet  home,  those  vital  que? 
tions  whose  solution  seems  to  engage  your  every  thought  ?" 

She  drew  back,  and  answered  with  a  dreary  sort  of  smile  : 

"  I  am  afraid  you  would  derive  little  pleasure,  and  I  less  profit 
from  such  disputation.  I  have  learned  from  bitter  experience 
that  merely  logical  forms  of  argumentation  do  not  satisfy  the  hun- 
gry soul.  The  rigid  processes  of  Idealism  annihilated  the 
external  world;  and  Hume  proved  that  Mind  was  a  like  chimera; 
yet  who  was  ever  seriously  converted  by  their  incontrovertible 
reasoning?  I  have  lost  faith  in  ratiocination." 

"Still  you  cling  to  opinions  founded  on  its  errors.  Why  not 
be  consistent,  and  in  rejecting  its  most  potent  ally,  reject  the 
conclusions  of  Rationalism  also  ?" 

"  Because  1  must  believe  something.  Faith  in  some  creed  i? 
an  absolute  necessity  of  human  nature." 

•'You  distinguish  faith,  then,  from  intellectual  belief?" 

"  No  ;  I  compound  them  ;  my  faith  is  based  on  mental  con- 
viction," replied  Beulah,  perceiving  whither  he  was  leading  her, 
and  resolved  not  to  follow. 

"And  this  conviction  results  from  those  same  processes  of 
ratiocinatu  n  which  you  condemn  as  unworthy  of  credence 
l/ccausc  subject  to  gross,  sometimes  ludicrous  perversions  ?" 

"  I  am  unable  to  detect  any  such  perversion  or  inacuracy  hi 
the  cautious  course  of  reasoning  which  has  assisted  me  to  m* 
present  belief." 

"  Pardon  me,  but  does  this  fact  convince  you  of  the  infalli 


£40  B  E  TJ  L  A  H  . 

bility  of  the  course?  Hare  you  constituted  your  individual 
reason  the  sole  judge  ?" 

';  Yes  ;  there  is  no  other  left  me.r/ 

"  And  your  conclusions  are  true  for  you  only,  since  the  indi 
ridual  organism  of  your  mind  makes  them  so.  To  an  intellect 
of  a  higher  or  lower  grade  these  conclusions  would  be  untenable, 
since  the  depressed  or  exalted  reason  judged  them  accordingly 
You  may  cling  to  some  doctrine  as  absolutely  and  iccessarily 
true,  yet  to  my  mind  it  may  seem  a  shallow  delusion,  like  the 
vagaries  of  spirit-rappers." 

"  No  ;  reasoning  is  often  fallacious,  but  reason  is  divine  ; 
reasoning  often  clouds  the  truth,  but  reason,  by  spontaneous 
apperception,  grasps  truth,"  persisted  Beulah,  unhesitatingly. 

"  Then  truth  has  as  many  phases,  and  as  antagonistic,  as  there 
are  individuals  in  the  universe.  All  men  are  prophets;  all  are 
alike  inspired  ;  all  alike  worthy  of  trust  and  credence.  Spon- 
taneous reason  has  grasped  a  number  of  oddly  conflicting  doc- 
trines, let  me  tell  you,  and  the  reconciliation  of  these  would  be 
a.n  undertaking  to  which  the  dozen  labors  of  Hercules  seem  a 
farce." 

"  The  superstitions  of  various  ages  and  nations  are  not  valid 
arguments  against  the  existence  of  universal  and  necessary 
principles." 

"  Why,  then,  have  these  principles  produced  no  unanimity  of 
faith  ?  The  history  of  the  human  race  is  the  history  of  the  rise 
of  one  philosophy  and  religion  from  the  ashes  of  its  predecessor. 
There  is  one  universal  belief  in  the  necessity  of  religion,  and 
this  belief  built  altars  in  the  dawn  of  time  ;  but  your  spontane- 
ous reason  is  perpetually  changing  the  idols  on  these  altars 
The  God  of  cue  man's  reason  will  not  satisfy  that  of  his 
neighbor." 

Before  Beulah  could  reply,  she  heard  Eugene  calling  her  in  th« 
hall,  and  was  hastening  to  meet  him;  but  Mr.  Lindsay  caught 
her  hand,  and  said  :  "  You  have  not  yet  given  me  permission 
t>  intrude  on  your  seclusion."  She  withdrew  her  hand  instautlv 


BEULAH.  44) 

"  When  you  have  nothing  else  to  occupy  you,  and  wish  tc 
irhilc  away  au  hour  in  literary  discussion,  you  will  generally 
find  me  at  home  during  vacation." 

She  \vuiked  on  and  joined  Eugene  in  the  hall.  Antoinette 
stood  in  the  door,  and  they  merely  exchanged  bows,  while  Mr. 
GJrahara  grasped  her  hand  and  earnestly  thanked  her  for  the 
ffiany  kindnesses  she  had  rendered  to  his  family.  Beulah  looked 
at  the  composed,  beautiful  face  of  the  young  wife,  and  then  at 
the  thin  form  of  the  husband,  and  said,  hastily  : 

"  You  owe  me  no  thanks,  sir  ;  the  claims  of  true  friendship 
are  imperative.  In  removing  to  his  own  house  I  trust  Eugene's 
in'provement  may  not  be  retarded." 

Antoinette  tripped  dowi.  the  steps,  and  gathering  the  flounces 
of  her  costly  dress,  seated  herself  in  the  carriage.  Mr.  Graham 
bit  his  lip,  colored,  and  after  a  cordial  good  bye,  joined  her. 
Eugene  smiled  bitterly,  and  turning  to  Beulah,  took  both  her 
hands  in  his,  saying,  feelingly  : 

"  Beulah,  I  leave  your  house  a  wiser,  if  not  less  miserable 
man.  I  am  going  to  atone  for  the  past ;  to  prove  to  you  that 
your  faith  in  me  is  not  altogether  unmerited.  If  I  am  saved 
from  ruin  and  disgrace,  I  owe  it  to  you  ;  and  to  you  I  shall  look 
for  sympathy  and  encouragement.  To  you,  my  best  friend,  I 
shall  often  come  for  sisterly  aid,  when  clouds  gather  black  and 
stormy  over  my  miserable  home.  God  bless  you,  Beulah  !  I 
have  promised  reformation,  and  will  keep  my  promise  sacred  if 
It  cost  me  my  life." 

He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  linking  his  arm  in  Mr 
Lind.saj'j,  left  the  house  and  entered  the  carriage,  while  th« 
alter  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  slowly  away. 

"  You  look  weary,  child.  Yon  must  give  yourself  some  rest 
i-.v.v,''  ;nid  Mrs.  Williams,  wiping  her  eyes  with  the  corner  of  her 
ipr  on. 

"  Rest !     Ah,  yes  ;  if  I  could  find  it,"  returned  the  girl,  taking 
the  comb  from  the  back  of  her  head,  and  shaking  down  thp  fold? 
of  hair,  till  it  hung  round  her  like  a  long  mourning  veil 
19* 


U2  BEULAff. 

"  Suppose  you  try  to  sleep  some,"  suggested  the  matron. 
"  I  have  some  work  to  do  first,"  said  she,  drawing  a  long  breath 
and  wiping  the  anst  from  her  desk. 

Mrs.  Williams  withdrew  ;  and,  clasping  her  hands  over  iuel 
'orehead,  Beulah  stood  looking  up,  with  dim  eyes,  at  the  cloud- 
)S8  face  that  smiled  down  on  her,  until  she  almost  fancied  tht 
is*  parted  to  address  her. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

MR  LIXDSAY'S  visits  grew  more  frequent.  At  first  Beulat 
wondered  what  brought  him  so  often  from  his  distant  home  to 
the  city,  and  supposed  it  must  be  some  legal  business  which  en- 
gaged him;  but  gradually  a  different  solution  dawned  upon  her 
mind.  She  rejected  it  as  the  prompting  of  vanity,  but  again  and 
again  the  supposition  recurred.  The  imperturbable  gravity  and 
repose  of  his  manner  often  disconcerted  her.  It  was  in  vain  that 
she  resorted  to  sarcasm  and  irony,  he  was  incorrigibly  unruffled; 
in  vain  she  <v^  "nld,  repellent,  haughty  :  his  quiet  smile  remained 
unaltered.  His  superior,  and  thoroughly  cultivated  intellect,  and 
the  unaffected  simplicity  of  his  manner,  characterized  by  singular 
candor,  rendered  him  an  unusually  agreeable  companion  ;  but 
Bfuiah  rebelled  against  the  unobtrusive  yet  constant  care  with 
which  she  fancied  he  watched  her.  The  seclusion  of  her  life, 
and  reserve  of  her  nature,  conspired  to  impart  a  degree  of  ab 
ruptness  to  her  own  manners  ;  and  to  one  who  understood  her 
character  less  than  Reginald  Lindsay,  there  was  an  unhesitating 
rincerity  of  expression,  which  might  have  been  termed  rudeness. 
The  frequency  of  his  visits  attracted  the  attention  of  strangers  ; 
already  the  busy  tongue  of  meddling  gossip  had  connected  their 
Barnes  ;  Dr.  Asbury,  too,  bantered  her  unmercifully  upon  hii 
nephew's  constant  pilgrimages  to  the  city  ;  and  the  result  wa$ 


B  E  U  t,  A  H  .  443 

.  that  Mr.  Lindsay's  receptions  grew  colder  and  less  flattering  con 
tinually.  From  the  first,  she  had  not  encouraged  his  visits,  and 
now  she  positively  discouraged  them,  by  every  intimation  which 
the  rules  of  etiquette  justified  her  in  offering.  Yet  she  respected, 
esteemed,  and  in  many  things  admired  him ;  and  readily  confessed 
to  her  own  heart  that  his  society  often  gave  her  pleasure. 

One  winter  evening  she  sat  alone  by  the  dining-room  fire,  witV 
a  newspaper  in  her  hand,  reading  a  notice  of  the  last  number  of 
the  magazine,  in  which  one  of  her  sketches  was  roughly  handled. 
Of  course,  she  was  no  better  pleased  with  the  unflattering  criti- 
cism ihan  the  majority  of  writers  in  such  cases.  She  frowned, 
bit  her  lip,  and  wondered  who  could  have  written  it.  The 
review  was  communicated,  and  the  paper  had  been  sent  to  her  by 
some  unknown  hand.  Ouce  more  she  read  the  article,  and 
her  brow  cleared,  while  a  smile  broke  over  her  face.  She  had 
recognized  a  particular  jlictum,  and  was  no  longer  puzzled. 
Leaning  her  head  on  her  palm,  she  sat  looking  into  the  fire, 
ruminating  on  the  objections  urged  against  her  piece;  it  was  the 
first  time  she  had  ever  been  unfavorably  criticised,  and  this  was 
sufficient  food  for  thought. 

Mr.  Lindsay  came  in  and  stood  near  her  unobserved.  They 
had  not  met  for  several  weeks,  and  she  was  not  aware  that  he 
was  in  the  city.  Charon,  who  lay  on  the  rug  at  her  feet,  growled, 
and  she  looked  round. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  her  visitor,  extending  his  hand. 

She  did  not  accept  it,  but  merely  inclined  her  head,  saying : 

"  Ah,  how  do  you  do,  sir  ?" 

He  laid  a  package  on  the  table,  drew  a  chair  near  the  hearth, 
without  looking  at  her,  and  calling  to  Charon,  patted  his  huge 
t»r-ad  kindly. 

"  What  have  you  there,  Miss  Beulah  ?  Merely  a  newspaper  : 
U  seems  to  interest  you  intensely.  May  I  see  it  ?" 

"  I  am  certainly  very  much  obliged  to  you,  pir,  for  the  chiyal 
rous  spirit  in  which  you  indited  your  criticism  I  was  just  pon 
luring  it  when  you  eotered." 


144  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  and  shook  the  paper  at  him. 

"  I  thought  I  had  feigned  a  style  you  would  not  recognize,* 
he  answered,  quite  unconcernedly. 

"You  succeeded  admirably,  with  the  exception  of  one  pet 
phrase,  which  betrayed  you  Next  time,  recollect  that  you  arf 
very  partial  to  some  particular  expressions,  with  which  I  happef 
to  be  acquainted  j  and  avoid  their  introduction." 

"  I  rather  think  I  shall  not  repeat  the  experiment  ;  especially 
as  my  arguments  seem  to  have  failed  signally  in  their  design 
Are  you  quite  sure  that  you  understand  my  review  perfectly  ?" 

He  looked  a  little  curious — she  fancied  disappointed — and  she 
replied,  laughingly  : 

"  Oh,  I  think  I  do;  it  is  not  so  very  abstruse." 

He  leaned  forward,  took  the  paper  from  her,  before  she  was 
uware  of  his  intention,  and  threw  it  into  the  fire. 

She  looked  surprised,  and  he  offered  his  hand  once  more. 

"  Are  we  still  friends  ?  Will  you  shake  hands  with  your  re- 
v  iewer  ?" 

She  unhesitatingly  put  her  hand  in  his,  and  answered  : 

"  Friendship  is  not  a  gossamer  thread,  to  be  severed  by  t» 
stroke  of  the  pen." 

She  endeavored  to  withdraw  her  fingers,  but  he  held  then; 
firmly,  while  his  blue  eyes  rested  upon  her  with  an  expression 
she  by  no  means  liked.  Her  black  brows  met  in  a  heavy  frown, 
and  her  lips  parted  angrily ;  he  saw  it,  and  instantly  released 
her  hand. 

"  Miss  Beulah,  my  uncle  commissioned  me  to  say  to  you  thai 
he  received  a  letter  to-day  from  Dr.  Hartwell.  It  was  written 
during  his  voyage  down  the  Red  Sea,  and  contained  a  long  tare- 
Jk'ell,  ac  inland  travel  would  afford  no  facilities  for  writing." 

He  noted  the  tight  clasp  in  which  her  fingers  lock-.d  eacb 
Other,  and  the  livid  paleness  of  her  lips  and  brow,  as  the  long 
lashes  droopedr  and  she  sat  silently  listening.  Charon  laid  his 
head  oa  her  knee,  and  looked  up  at.  her.  There  was  a  brief 
silence,  and  Mr.  Lindsay  added,  slowly: 


BEU  L  AH  445 

"  My  uncle  fears  he  will  never  return  ;   do  you  cherish  the 
tape  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  will  come  back,  if  his  life  is  spared.     It  may  be 
many  years,  but  he  will  come,  he  will  come." 

Their  eyes  met;  there  was  a  long,  searching  look  from  Ml  < 
Lindsay;  she  did  not  shrink  from  the  scrutiny      An  expression 
3f  keen  sorrow  swept  over  his  face,  but  he  conquered  his  erno 
Cion,  took  the  parcel  he  had  brought,  and  unwrapping  a  book, 
said,  in  his  usual  quiet  tone: 

"  When  I  saw  you  last,  you  were  regretting  your  inability  to 
procure  Sir  William  Hamilton's  '  Philosophy  of  the  Conditioned,'  *- 
and  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  bringing  you  my  own  copy. 
Bead  it  at  your  leisure;  I  shall  not  need  it  again  soon.  I  do 
not  offer  it  as  a  system  which  will  satisfy  your  mind,  by  solving 
all  your  problems;  but  I  do  most  earnestly  commend  his  '  Philo- 
sophy of  the  Conditioned,'  as  the  surest  antidote  to  the  abstrac- 
tions in  which  your  speculation  has  involved  you.  The  most 
erudite  scholar  of  the  age,  and  one  of  the  finest  metaphysical 
minds  the  world  has  ever  known,  he  expressly  sums  up  his  vast 
philosophic  researches  with  the  humble  confession:  'There  are 
two  sorts  of  ignorances;  we  philosophize  to  escape  ignorance, 
and  the  consummation  of  our  philosophy  is  ignorance;  we  start 
from  the  one,  we  repose  in  the  other;  they  are  the  goals  from 
which,  and  to  which,  we  tend;  and  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  is 
but  a  course  between  two  ignorances,  as  human  life  is  itself  only 
a  travelling  from  grave  to  grave.  The  highest  reach  of  human 
science  is  the  scientific  recognition  of  human  ignorance.'  Like 
you,  Miss  Beulah,  I  set  out  to  discover  some  system  where  no 
mysteries  existed ;  where  I  should  only  believe  what  I  could 
.-iearly  comprehend.  Yes,  said  I,  proudly:  I  will  believe 
ajthing  that  I  cannot  understand.  I  wandered  on,  until,  like 
?ou,  I  stood  in  a  wide  waste,  strewn  with  the  wreck  of  beliefs 
My  pride  asserted  that  my  reason  vas  the  only  and  sufficient 
guide,  and  whither  did  it  lead  me  ?  Into  vagaries  more  inexpli 
than  aught  I  fled  from  i;i  Revelation.  It  was  easier  t< 


*4  B  E  U  L  A  n  . 

believe  that,  'in  the  beginning,  God  created  the  heaven  and  tht 
earth,'  than  that  the  glorious  universe  looked  to  chance  as  its 
sole  architect,  or  that  it  was  a  huge  lumbering  machine  of  mat 
ter,  grinding  out  laws.  I  saw  that  I  was  the  victim  of  a  miser 
able  delusion,  in  supposing  my  finite  faculties  2ould  successfully 
grapple  with  the  mysteries  of  the  universe.  I  found  that  t< 
Deceive  the  attempted  solutions  of  philosophy  required  more 
faith  than  Revelation,  and  my  proud  soul  humbled  itself,  and 
rested  in  the  Bible.  My  philosophic  experience  had  taught  me, 
that  if  mankind  were  to  have  any  knowledge  of  their  origin, 
their  destiny,  their  God,  it  must  be  revealed  by  that  God,  for 
man  could  never  discover  aught  for  himself.  There  arc  mys 
teries  in  the  Bible  which  I  cannot  explain;  but  it  bears  incon- 
trovertible marks  of  divine  origin,  and  as  such  I  receive  it.  I 
can  sooner  believe  the  Mosaic  revelation,  than  the  doctrine 
which  tells  you  that  you  are  part  of  God,  and  capable  of  pene- 
trating to  absolute  truth.  To  quote  the  expressive  language  of 
an  acute  critic  (whose  well  known  latitudinarianism  and  disbe- 
lief in  the  verbal  inspiration  of  Scripture,  give  peculiar  weight 
to  his  opinion  on  this  subject),  'when  the  advocates  of  this 
natural,  spontaneous  inspiration,  will  come  forth  from  their 
recesses  of  thought,  and  deliver  prophecies  as  clear  as  those  of 
the  Hebrew  seer;  when  they  shall  mold  the  elements  of  nature 
to  their  will;  when  they  shall  speak  with  the  sublime  authority 
of  Jesus  of  Nazareth;  and  with  the  same  infinite  ease,  rising 
beyond  all  the  influence  of  time,  place  and  circumstances, 
explain  the  past,  and  unfold  the  future;  when  they  die  for  the 
truth  they  utter,  and  rise  again,  as  witnesses  to  its  divinity; 
Uicn  we  may  begin  to  place  them  on  the  elevation  which  they 
10  thoughtlessly  claim;  but  until  they  either  prove  these  facts  to 
be  delusions,  or  give  their  parallel  in  themselves,  the  world  inaj 
urcll  lajgh  at  tneir  ambition,  and  trample  their  spurious  inspira- 
tion beneath  its  feet.'  There  is  an  infinite,  eternal,  and  loving 
God  ;  I  am  a  finite  creature,  unable  to  comprehend  him,  and 
k  10 wing  him  only  through  his  own  revelation.  This  very  reve 


BKULAH.  447 

fation  is  insufficient  for  onr  aspiring  souls,  ]  grant  ;  but  i* 
declares  emphatically  that  here  'we  see  through  a  glass  darkly.1 
Better  this,  than  the  starless  night  in  which  you  grope,  without 
a  promise  of  the  dawn  of  eternity,  where  all  mystery  shall  b< 
explained.  Are  you  not  weary  of  fruitless,  mocking  specula 
tion  ?"  He  looked  at  her  anxiously. 

She  raised  her  colorless  face,  and  said  drearily,  as  she  passed 
her  hand  over  her  forehead  : 

"  Weary  ?  Ah,  yes  ?  weary  as  the  lonely  mariner,  tempest- 
tossed  on  some  pathless  ocean,  without  chart  or  compass.  In 
my  sky,  even  the  star  of  hope  is  shrouded.  Weary  ?  Yes,  in 
body  and  mind." 

"  Then,  humble  your  proud  intellect  ;  confess  your  ignorance 
and  inability,  and  rest  in  God  and  Christianity." 

She  made  an  impatient  gesture,  and,  turning  away,  he  walked 
up  and  down  the  floor.  For  some  moments  neither  spoke  ? 
finally,  he  approached  her,  and  continued  : 

"  There  is  strange  significance  in  the  Mosaic  record  of  the 
Fall.  Longing  for  the  fruits  of  knowledge,  whereby  the  myste- 
ries of  God  would  be  revealed,  cost  man  Eden.  The  first  pail 
ate,  knowledge  mocked  them,  and  only  the  curse  remained. 
That  primeval  curse  of  desiring  to  know  all  things  descended  to 
all  posterity,  and  at  this  instant  you  exemplify  its  existence. 
Ah  !  you  must  humble  your  intellect,  if  you  would  have  it 
exalted  ;  must  be  willing  to  be  guided  along  unknown  paths  by 
other  light  than  that  of  reason,  if  you  would  be  happy.  Well 
might  Sir  William  Hamilton  exclaim  :  '  It  is  ihis  powerful  ten 
dency  of  the  most  vigorous  minds  to  transcend  the  sphere  of  oui 
faculties,  which  makes  a  "learned  ignorance"  the  most  difficult 
acquirement,  perhaps  indeed  the  consummation  of  know- 
ledge.'" 

He  sighed  as  he  uttered  these  words  ;  she  said  nothing  ;  and. 
putting  his  hand  gently  upon  hers,  as  they  lay  folded  on  the 
wble  beside  her,  he  added,  sadly  : 

"  I  had  hoped  that  I  could  aid  yon  •  but  I  see  my  efforts  ar« 


i48  BfiULAH. 

useless  ;  you  will  not  be  guided  nor  influenced  by  ethers  ;  fcrt 
determined  to  wander  on  in  ever-deepening  night,  solitary  and 
restless  !  God  help  you,  Beulah  I" 

A  shudder  ran  over  her,  but  she  made  no  reply. 

He  took  her  cold  hands  in  his. 

"  And  now  we  part.  Since  the  evening  I  first  saw  yon  *iti 
your  basket  of  strawberries,  I  have  cherished  the  hope  that  1 
might  one  day  be  more  than  a  friend.  You  have  constantly 
shown  me  that  T  was  nothing  more  to  you  ;  I  have  seen  it  all 
along,  but  still  I  hoped  ;  and  notwithstanding  your  coldness,  I 
shall  continue  to  hope.  My  love  is  too  entirely  yours  to  be 
readily  effaced.  I  can  wait  patiently.  Beulah,  you  do  not  love 
me  now  ;  perhaps  never  can,  but  I  shall  at  least  cling  to  the 
hope.  1  shall  not  come  again  ;  shall  uot  weary  you  with  pro- 
fessions and  attentions.  I  know  your  nature,  and  even  had  I 
the  power,  would  not  persuade  you  to  give  me  your  hand  now. 
But  time  may  change  your  feelings  ;  on  this  frail  tenure  I  rest 
my  hopes.  Meantime,  should  circumstances  occur  which  demand 
'jhe  aid  or  counsel  of  devoted  friendship,  may  I  ask  you  to  feel 
no  hesitancy  in  claiming  any  assistance  I  can  render  ?  And, 
Beulah,  at  any  instant,  a  line,  a  word  can  recall  me.  The  sepa- 
ration will  be  very  painful  to  me,  but  I  cannot  longer  obtrude 
myself  on  your  pre'sence.  If,  as  I  earnestly  hope,  the  hour, 
however  distant,  should  come,  when  you  desire  to  see  me,  oh, 
Beulah,  how  gladly  will  I  hasten  to  you  " 

"  We  can  never  be  more  than  friends  ;  never  1"  cried 
Beulah. 

"You  think  so  now,  and  perhaps  I  am  doomed  to  disappoint 
went;  but,  without  your  sanction,  I  shall  hope  it.  Good  byer 
He  pressed  his  lips  to  her  hand,  and  walked  away. 

Beulah  heard  the  closing  of  the  little  gate,  and  then,  foi  tJu 
first  time,  his  meaning  flashed  upon  her  mind.  He  believed  she 
loved  her  guardian  ;  fancied  that  long  absence  would  c^'iterate 
Ms  image  from  her  heart,  and  that,  finally,  grown  indifferent  10 
one  who  might  never  return,  she  would  give  her  love  to  Lire 


BETJLAH.  419 

constancy  merited  it.  Genuine  aelicacy  of  feeling  pre 
rented  his  expressing  all  this,  but  she  was  conscious  now  thai 
on!;  this  induced  his  unexpected  course  toward  herself.  A 
burning  flush  suffused  her  face  as  she  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh  !  how  unworthy  I  am  of  such  love  as  his  ?  how  utterly 
Tindeserving  1" 

Soon  after,  opening  the  book  ho  had  brought  at  the  place 
^jsignated,  she  drew  the  lamp  near  her  and  began  its  perusal. 
Hour  after  hour  glided  away,  and  not  until  the  last  page  waa 
concluded  did  she  lay  it  aside.  The  work  contained  very  little 
that  was  new  ;  the  same  trains  of  thought  had  passed  through 
her  mind  more  than  once  before  ;  but  here  they  were  far  more 
clearly  and  forcibly  expressed. 

She  drew  her  chair  to  the  window,  threw  up  the  sash,  and 
looked  out.  It  was  wintry  midnight,  and  the  sky  blazed  with 
its  undying  watch-fires.  This  starry  page  was  the  first  her  I 
childish  intellect  had  puzzled  over.  She  had,  from  early  years,  1 
gazed  up  into  the  glittering  temple  of  night,  and  asked : 
"  Whence  came  yon  silent  worlds,  floating  in  solemn  grandeur 
along  the  blue,  waveless  ocean  of  space?  Since  the  universe 
sprang  phoenix-like  from  that  dim  chaos,  which  may  have  been 
but  the  charnel-house  of  dead  worlds,  those  unfading  lights  have 
burned  on,  bright  as  vrhcn  they  sang  together  at  the  creation. 
And  I  have  stretched  out  my  arms  helplessly  to  them,  and 
prayed  to  hear  just  once  their  unceasing  chant  of  praise  to  the 
Lord  of  Glory.  Will  they  shine  on  forever  ?  or  are  they  indeed 
God's  light-bearers,  set  to  illumine  the  depths  of  space  and 
blaze  a  path  along  which  the  soul  may  travel  to  its  God?  Will 
they  one  day  flicker  and  go  out  ?"  To  every  thoughtful  mind, 
Ihese  questions  propound  themselves,  and  Beulah  especially 
iad  essayed  to  answer  them.  Science  had  named  the  starry 
hosts,  and  computed  their  movements  with  wonderful  skill  ;  but 
what  could  it  teach  her  of  their  origin  and  destiny  ?  Absolutely 
Dothing.  And  how  stood  her  investigations  in  the  more  occull 
ilrpartments  of  psychology  and  ontology  ?  Ar  honest  seeker  o* 


450  B  E  V  L  A  II  , 

truth,  what  had  these  years  of  inquiry  and  speculation  accent! 
plished  ?  Let  her  answer  as,  with  face  bowed  on  her  palms,  hoi 
eyes  roved  over  the  midnight  sky. 

"  Once  I  had  some  principles,  some  truths  clearly  defined, 
bit  now  I  know  nothing  distinctly,  believe  nothing.  The  mort 
I  read  and  study,  the  more  obscure  seem  the  questions  I  art 
toiling  to  answer.  Is  this  increasing  intricacy  the  reward  of  an 
earnestly  inquiring  inind  ?  Is  this  to  be  the  end  of  all  my  glori- 
ous aspirations  ?  Have  I  come  to  this  ?  '  Thus  far,  and  no 
farther.'  I  have  stumbled  on  these  boundaries  many  times,  and 
now  must  I  rest  here  ?  Oh,  is  this  my  recompense  ?  Can  this 
be  all  ?  All !"  Smothered  sobs  convulsed  her  frame. 

She  had  long  before  rejected  a  "  revealed  code  "  as  unneces- 
sary ;  the  next  step  was  to  decipher  nature's  symbols,  and  thus 
grasp  God's  hidden  laws  ;  but  here  the  old  trouble  arose  ;  how 
far  was  "individualism"  allowable  and  safe?  To  reconcile  the 
theories  of  rationalism,  she  felt,  was  indeed  a  herculean  task, 
and  she  groped  on  into  deeper  night.  Now  and  then,  her 
horizon  was  bestarred,  and,  in  her  delight,  she  shouted  Eureka  1 
But  when  the  telescope  of  her  infallible  reason  was  brought  to 
bear  upon  the  coldly  glittering  points,  they  flickered  and  Vcnl 
out.  More  than  once,  a  flaming  comet,  of  German  manufacture, 
trailed  in  glory  athwart  her  dazzled  vision  ;  but  close  observa- 
tion resolved  the  gilded  nebula,  and  the  nucleus  mocked  her. 
Doubt  engendered  doubt ;  the  death  of  one  difficulty  was  the 
instant  birth  of  another.  Wave  after  wave  of  skepticism 
Burged  over  her  soul,  until  the  image  of  a  great  personal  God 
was  swept  from  its  altar.  But  atheism  never  yet  usurped  the 
sovereignty  of  the  hunwi  mind  ;  in  all  ages,  moldering  vestiges 
of  protean  deism  confront  the  giant  spectre,  and  every  nation 
andcr  heaven  has  reared  its  fane  to  the  "  unknown  God." 
Bculah  had  striven  to  enthrone  in  her  desecrated  soul,  the  huge, 
dim,  shapeless  phantom  of  pantheism,  and  had  turned  eagerly 
)  to  the  system  of  Spinoza.  The  heroic  grandeur  of  the  man'i 
life  and  character  bad  strangelj  fascinated  her  ;  but  now,  thai 


B  B  U  L  A  H  .  45 1 

idol  of  a  "  substance,  whose  two  infinite  attributes  were  exte» 
§ion  and  thought,"  mocked  her  ;  and  she  'hurled  it  from  it« 
peck-s tal,  and  looked  back  wistfully  to  the  pure  faith  of  her 
childhood.  A  Godless  world  ;  a  Gcdless  woman.  She  took  up 
the  lamp,  and  retired  to  her  own  room.  On  all  sides,  book? 
greeted  her  ;  here  was  the  varied  lore  of  dead  centuries  ;  her? 
she  had  held  communion  with  the  great  souls  entombed  in  these 
dusty  pages.  Here,  wrestling  alone  with  those  grim  puzzles,  she 
had  read  out  the  vexed  and  vexing  questions,  in  this  debating  ; 
club  of  the  moldering  dead,  and  endeavored  to  make  them 
solve  them.  These  well-worn  volumes,  with  close  "  marginalias," 
echoed  her  inquiries,  but  answered  them  not  to  her  satisfaction. 
Was  her  life  to  be  thus  passed  in  feverish  toil,  and  ended  as  by 
a  leap  out  into  a  black  shoreless  abyss  ?  Like  a  spent  child, 
she  threw  her  arms  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  wept  uncontrollably, 
murmuring  : 

"  Oli,  better  die  now,  than  live  as  I  have  lived,  in  perpetual 
strugglings  !  What  is  life  worth  without  peace  of  mind,  with- 
out hope  ;  and  what  hope  have  I  ?  Diamonded  webs  of  sophis- 
try can  no  longer  entangle  ;  like  Noah's  dove,  my  soul  has 
fluttered  among  them,  striving  in  vain  for  a  sure  hold  to  perch 
upon ;  but  unlike  it,  I  have  no  ark  to  flee  to.  Weary  and 
almost  hopeless,  I  would  faia  believe  that  this  world  is  indeed  as 
a  deluge,  and  in  it  there  is  no  ark  of  refuge  but  the  Bible.  It 
is  true,  I  did  not  see  this  souls'  ark  constructed  ;  I  know  no- 
thing of  the  machinery  employed  ;  and  no  more  than  Noah's  dove, 
can  I  explore  and  fully  understand  its  secret  chambers  ;  yet,  all 
untutored,  the  exhausted  bird  sought  safety  in  the  incompre- 
hensible, and  was  saved.  As  to  the  mysteries  of  revelation  and 
inspiration,  why,  I  meet  mysteries,  turn  which  way  I  will.  Man 
earth,  time,  eternity,  God,  are  all  inscrutable  mysteries.  My 
own  soul  is  a  mystery  unto  itself,  and  so  long  as  I  am  impotent 
to  fathom  its  depths,  how  shall  I  hope  to  unfold  the  secrets  of 
the  universe  ?" 

ohe  had  rejected  Christian   theism,  because  she   could   aol 


452  BETTLAri. 

understand  how  God  nad  created  the  universe  out  of  nothing 
True,  "with  God,  all  things  are  possible,"  but  she  could  not 
understand  this  creation  out  of  nothing,  and  therefore  wo'ikj 
7  not  believe  it.  Yet  (oh,  inconsistency  of  human  reasoning  !) 
she  had  believed  that  the  universe  created  laws  :  that  mat.er 
gradually  created  mind.  This  was  the  inevitable  result  cf  pan 
theism,  for  according  to  geology,  there  was  a  primeval  period, 
when  neither  vegetable  nor  animal  life  existed  ;  when  the  earth 
was  a  huge  mass  of  inorganic  matter.  Of  two  incomprehensi- 
bilities, which  was  the  most  plausible  ?  To-night  this  question 
recurred  to  her  mind  with  irresistible  force,  and  as  her  eyea 
wandered  over  the  volumes  she  had  so  long  consulted,  she 
exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  philosophy  1  thou  hast  mocked  my  hungry  soul  ;  thy 
gilded  fruits  have  crumbled  to  ashes  in  my  grasp.  In  lieu  of  the 
holy  faith  of  my  girlhood,  thou  hast  given  me  but  dim,  doubtful 
conjecture,  cold  metaphysical  abstractions,  intangible  shadows, 
that  flit  along  my  path,  and  lure  me  on  to  deeper  morasses. 
Oh,  what  is  the  shadow  of  death,  in  comparison  with  the  star- 
less  night  which  has  fallen  upon  me,  even  in  the  morning  of  my. 
life  !  My  God,  save  me  !  Give  me  light :  of  myself  I  can 
know  nothing  !" 

Her  proud  intellect  was  humbled,  and  falling  on  her  knees, 
for  the  first  time  in  many  months,  a  sobbing  prayer  went  up  to 
the  throne  of  the  living  God  ;  while  the  vast  clockwork  ol  stun 
looked  in  on  a  pale  -brow  aad  lips,  wl  ere  heavy  drops  of  orjift 
tare  glistened. 


1  K  U  L  A  H  .  453 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

POUB  years  had  passed  since  Eugene  Graham  returned  to  hil 
fcomc,  after  his  severe  illness,  and  now,  as  he  sits  alone  in  hia 
library,  with  a  bundle  of  legal  documents  before  him,  it  is  not 
difficult  to  perceive  that  his  promise  has  been  held  sacred. 
Through  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Lindsay,  and  the  persuasions  of 
Beulah,  he  had  closely  applied  himself  to  the  study  of  law,  imme- 
diately after  his  recovery.  Hopeless  of  happiness  in  his  home, 
ambition  became  the  ruling  passion,  and  scourged  him  on  to 
(Unceasing  exertion.  The  aspirations  of  his  boyhood  revived;  the 
memory  of  his  humiliating  course  goaded  him  to  cover  the  past 
with  the  garlands  of  fame  ;  and  consciousness  of  unusual  talents 
-assured  him  of  final  success.  Mr.  Graham  no  longer  opposed 
the  design,  as  formerly,  but  facilitated  its  execution  to  the 
utmost  of  his  ability.  Under  these  circumstances,  it  was  not 
*urpribiog  that  earnest  application  soon  procured  his  admission 
to  the  bar.  His  efforts  were  redoubled,  and,  ere  long,  his  elo- 
quence obtained  for  him  a  connection  with  one  of  the  most  pro- 
minent members  of  the  profession.  The  world  wondered  at  this 
complete  revolution  ;  many  doubted  its  continuance  ;  but,  step 
by  step,  he  climbed  the  ladder  to  eminence,  and  merited  the 
applause  which  the  public  lavished  upon  him.  Success  only 
inflamed  his  ambition,  and  it  became  evident  he  aimed  at  politi- 
cal renown.  Nature  had  fitted  him  for  the  political  arena,  Lad 
endowed  him  with  oratorical  powers  of  no  ordinary  stamp  ;  and 
though  long  dormant,  they  were  not  impaired  by  his  inertia.  It 
was  fortunate  for  him  that  an  exciting  Presidential  canvass 
afforded  numerous  opportunities  for  the  development  of  these 
and  ut  its  close,  he  found  himself  possessed  of  au  enviable  repu 
tfttion.  To  a  certain  extent,  his  wife  was  elated  with  hi*  success; 


f  54  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

she  \vas  proud  of  his  acknowledged  talent,  but  her  selfish  nature 
was  utterly  incapable  of  the  tenderness  and  sincere  affection  he 
demanded.  Their  alienation  was  complete.  No  bickerings  dis- 
turbed the  serene  atmosphere  of  their  home,  because  mutual 
indifference  precluded  the  necessity.  Mrs.  Graham  gave  parties, 
and  attended  them  ;  rode,  danced,  spent  her  summers  at  fashion* 
able  watering-places,  and  her  winters  in  a  round  of  folly  and 
dissipation,  while  her  husband  pursued  his  profession,  careless  of 
her  movements,  and  rarely  in  her  company.  In  the  lady's  conduct, 
the  circle  in  which  she  moved,  saw  nothing  reprehensible.  She 
dressed  superbly,  gave  elegant  entertainments,  and  was,  par  excel 
knee,  the  leader  of  bon-ton.  True,  she  was  quite  as  much  of  a 
belle  as  any  young  lady  in  the  city,  and  received  the  attentions 
and  flattery  of  gentlemen  as  unreservedly,  nay,  delightedly,  as 
though  she  had  no  neglected  husband  and  child  at  home,  who 
had  claims  upon  her  ;  but  this  sort  of  conjugal  indifference  wag 
in  vogue,  and  as  she  frowned  down,  or  smiled  up,  some  fauiily 
laboriously  toiling  to  reach  her  circle,  her  "clique"  blindl)  fol- 
lowed her  example,  and  humored  her  whims.  As  regarded  her 
deportment  toward  her  husband,  one  alteration  was  perceptiob ; 
she  respected — almost  feared  him  ;  shrank  from  his  presence, 
and  generally  contrived  to  fill  the  house  with  company  when  she 
was,  for  short  intervals,  at  home.  He  ceased  to  upbraid,  or  tven 
remonstrate  ;  his  days  were  spent  in  the  court-room,  or  his  otfice, 
and  his  evenings  in  his  library.  She  dressed  as  extravagantly  i>* 
Bhe  chose  ;  he  made  no  comments,  paid  her  accounts,  and  grew 
more  taciturn  and  a-bstracted,  day  by  day. 

Oh,  woman  !  woman  1  when  will  you  sever  the  fetters  which 
fashion,  wealth  and  worldliness  have  bound  about  you,  and  piovo 
yourselves  worthy  the  noble  mission  for  which  you  were  created  ? 
How  much  longer  will  heartless,  soulless  wives,  mothers,  daugh- 
ters, anil  sisters,  waltz,  moth-like,  round  the  consuming  flume  of 
fashion  ;  and  by  neglecting  their  duties,  and  deserting  theii 
sphere,  drive  their  husbands,  sons  and  bothers,  out  into  tha 
vorld,  reckless  and  depraved,  with  callous  hearts,  irrevocable 


BKULAH.  45i> 

aid  on  the  altars  of  Mammon  ?  God  help  the  women  of  Ame- 
rica I  Grant  them  the  true  womanly  instincts  which,  iu  the 
dawn  of  our  republic,  made  "  home  "  the  Eden,  the  acme  cf  al' 
human  hopes  and  joys.  Teach  them  that  gilded  saloons,  wi:b 
their  accompanying  allurements  of  French  latitude  in  dress,  and 
•jancing,  and  the  sans-souci  manners  and  style  of  conversation, 
(which,  in  less  degenerate  times,  would  have  branded  with  dis- 
g/ace  and  infamy  all  who  indulged  it),  teach  them  that  all  theso 
tend  to  the  depths  of  social  evil  ;  and  oh,  lead  them  back  to  the 
hearthstone,  that  holy-post,  which  too  many,  alas,  have  deserted  I 
Eugene  Graham's  love  and  tenderness  were  all  bestowed  on  hia 
daughter,  a  beautiful  child,  not  yet  five  years  old  ;  the  sole  com- 
panion of  the  hours  spent  at  home,  she  became  his  idol. 

It  was  one  sunny  afternoon  that  he  finished  copying  some 
papers,  necessary  in  a  case  to  be  defended  the  following  day. 
The  sunshine,  stealing  through  the  shutters,  fell  on  his  lofty 
brow,  pale  from  continued  study  ;  his  whole  countenance  bespoke 
a  nature  saddened,  vexed,  but  resolute,  and  leaning  forward,  he 
touched  the  bell-rope.  As  he  did  so,  there  came  quick  footsteps 
pattering  along  the  hall  ;  the  door  was  pushed  open,  and  a  little 
fairy  form,  with  a  head  of  rich  auburn  ringlets,  peeped  in  cau- 
tiously, while  a  sweet,  childish  voice,  asked  eagerly  : 

"  May  I  come  now,  father  ?  Have  you  done  writing  ?  I  won't 
make  a  noise  ;  indeed  I  won't." 

The  gloom  fled  from  his  face,  and  he  held  out  his  arms  to  her, 
saying  : 

"  I  have  done  writing  ;  you  may  come  now,  my  darling." 

She  sprang  into  his  lap,  and  threw  her  little,  snowy  arras 
•bout  his  neck,  kissing  him  rapturously,  and  passing  her  fragile 
firgcrs  through  his  hair.  She  resembled  him  closely,  having  the 
lunrj  classical  contour,  and  large,  soft,  dark  eyes.  He  returned 
her  caresses  with  an  expression  of  almost  adoring  fondness,  strok- 
ing her  curls  with  a  light,  gentle  touch.  The  evening  was  warm, 
and  large  drops  stood  on  his  forehead.  She  noticed  it,  and 
standing  on  his  knee,  took  the  correr  of  her  tiny,  embroiderer 


456  B  E  TT  L  A  H  . 

apron,  and  wiped  away  the  moisture,  kissing  the  forehead  as  eia 
did  so.  A  servant  looked  in  at  the  door. 

'•'  Did  you  ring,  sir  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  tell  Philip  I  want  my  buggy." 

"  Oh,  you  are  going  to  ride  1  Can  I  go  ?  and  will  we  go  to 
t*e  Aunt  Beulah — will  we  ?"  She  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

'"  Would  you  like  to  go  there,  Cornelia  ?" 

'  Oh,  yes  I  1  always  like  to  go  there.  I  love  her,  she  is  so 
good  I  Let's  go  to  sec  her,  won't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  shall  go  with  me,  my  darling." 

He  bent  down  to  kiss  her  coral  lips,  and  just  then  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham swept  into  the  room.  She  was  attired  in  an  elegant  riding 
habit,  of  dark  purple,  while  a  velvet  hat  of  the  same  color,  with 
a  long,  drooping  plume,  shaded  her  lace.  Her  hands  were 
incased  in  delicate  kid  gauntlets,  which  titled  with  perfect  ex- 
actness. She  was  a  beautiful  woman,  and  the  costume  height- 
ened her  loveliness.  She  started  slightly,  011  perceiving  her 
husband,  and  said  hastily  : 

"  I  thought  you  were  at  your  office.  Cornelia,  what  on  earth 
have  you  done  with  my  riding-whip  ?  you  mischievous  little 
wretch  !  You  lost  it  once  before.  Go  find  it ;  I  am  waitiag  for 
.it.  Go  this  instant  1" 

"  I  don't  know  where  it  is,"  returned  the  child,  making  no 
effort  to  leave  her  father's  arms. 

Eugene  glanced  up  at  his  wife  ;  his  eves  wandered  over  her 
becoming  and  beautiful  dress,  then  went  uack  to  the  sunny  face 
of  his  child. 

An  angry  flush  dyed  Antoinette's  cheeks,  as  she  observed  her 
daughter's  indifference. 

"  Where  is  my  whip,  I  say  ?  Flora  saw  you  with  it  ycsier- 
4av,  whipping  that  hobby-horse.  I  told  you  to  keep  your  hands 
cff  of  it,  diJu't  I  ?  If  you  don't  go  and  find  it  quick,  I'll  b'* 
you  soundly,  you  meddlesome  little  brat  I" 

"  I  haven't  had  it  since  you  told  me  I  shouldn't  play  with  it 
Flora  tells  a  story,"  answered  Cornelia,  sobbing. 


B  3  U  L  A  H  .  457 

"  You  did  ha?e  it  I"  cried  the  angry  mother,  shaking  her  band 
threateningly. 

"  Did  you  see  her  with  it  T'  asked  Eugene,  rising,  with  the 
shild  iu  his  arms. 

"  I  know  she  had  it  1" 

"  Did  you  see  her  with  it,  I  asked  you  1" 

"  No,  but  Flora  did,  and  that  is  all  the  same;  besides,  I" 

"  Here  is  the  whip,  ma'am.  I  found  it  last  week  in  the  hall, 
behind  a  chair,  and  put  it  in  the  cane  stand.  The  last  time  you 
went  to  ride,  you  put  it  and  your  gloves  on  a  chair  in  the  hall, 
and  went  into  the  parlor  to  see  some  company.  Flora  picked 
dp  the  gloves  and  carried  them  up-stairs,  but  didn't  see  the 
whip." 

John,  the  dining-room  servant,  handed  her  a  small  whip,  with 
mother-of-pearl  handle,  inlaid  with  gold. 

"  It  is  no  such  thing  1"  cried  Mrs.  Graham,  gathering  up  the 
folds  of  her  habit,  and  coloring  with  vexation. 

John  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  retired,  and  his  mistresg 
Bailed  out  to  the  front  door,  where  her  horse  and  her  escor* 
awaited  her. 

"  Run  acd  get  your  hat  and  cape,  Cornelia  ;  I  see  the  buggy 
coming  round  the  corner." 

Eugcue  wiped  away  the  tear-drops  glittering  on  her  rosy 
cheeks,  and  she  sprang  off  to  obey  him  ;  while  in  the  interim,  he 
sent  for  Flora,  and  gave  her  to  understand  that  he  would  allow 
no  repetition  of  the  deception  he  had  accidentally  discovered. 
The  maid  retired,  highly  incensed,  of  course,  and  resolved  to 
wreak  \engeance  on  both  John  and  Cornelia  ;  and  Eugene  took 
bis  seat  in  the  buggy  in  no  particularly  amiable  mood.  They 
found  Beulah  in  her  little  flower  garden,  pruning  some  luxuriant 
geraniums.  She  threw  down  her  knife,  and  hastened  to  meet 
them,  and  all  three  sat  down  on  the  steps. 

Four  years  had  brought  sorrow  to  that  cottage  home;  had 
bushed  the  kind  accents  of  the  matron  ;  stilled  the  true  heart 
that  throbbed  so  tenderly  for  her  orphan  charge,  and  had  seen 
20 


458  BKULAH. 

her  laid  to  rest  in  a  warm,  grassy  slope  of  the  cemetery  Slit 
died  peaceably  three  months  before  the  day  of  which  I  write  ; 
died  exhorting  Eugene  and  Beulah  so  to  pass  the  season  of  pro- 
bation, that  they  might  be  reunited  beyond  the  grave.  In  lift 
she  had  humbly  exemplified  the  teachings  of  our  Saviour,  and 
her  death  was  a  triumphant  attestation  of  the  joy  and  hop* 
which  only  the  Christian  religion  can  aii'ord  in  the  final  hour. 

To  Beulah,  this  blow  was  peculiarly  severe,  and  never  had  the 
iense  of  her  orphanage  been  more  painfully  acute  than  when  she 
returned  from  the  funeral  to  her  lonely  home.  But  to  sorrow 
her  nature  was  inured  ;  she  had  learned  to  bear  grief,  and  only 
her  mourning  dress  and  subdued  manner  told  how  deeply  she  felt 
this  trial.  Now  she  took  Cornelia  in  her  arms  and  kissed  her 
fondly,  while  the  child  returned  her  caresses  with  a  warmth 
which  proved  how  sincerely  she  loved  her. 

"  May  I  have  some  flowers,  auntie  ?"  cried  she,  patting 
Beulah's  pale  cheek  with  her  plump,  dimpled  hands. 

"  Yes,  just  as  many  as  you  can  carry  home.  Go  gather 
Boiae." 

She  sprang  off,  and  the  two  sat  watching  the  flutter  of  her 
whito  dress,  among  the  flower-beds.  She  piled  her  little  apron  aa 
full  as  possible,  and  came  back  panting  and  delighted.  Beulah 
looked  down  at  the  beautiful  beaming  face,  and  twining  one  of 
the  silky  curls  over  her  finger,  said,  musingly  : 

"  Eugene,  she  always  reminds  me  of  Lilly.  Do  you  see  the 
resemblance  ?" 

"  Not  in  her  features  ;  in  size  and  gay  heedlessuess  of  manner, 
ghe  is  like  Lilly,  as  I  saw  her  last." 

"Yes,  Lilly's  eyes  were  blue,  and  your  child'?:  are  dark,  like 
your  own  ;  but  she  never  comes  up  and  puts  her  arms  round  my 
neck,  without  recalling  bygone  years.  I  could  shut  my  eyes,  and 
fancy  my  lost  darling  was  once  more  mine.  Ah  I  how  carefuHv 
memory  gathers  up  the  golden  links  of  childhood,  and  weaves  the 
chain  that  binds  our  hearts  to  the  olden  time  1  Sometimes  } 
think  I  urn  only  dreaming,  and  shall  wake  to  a  happy  reality 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  459 

L  [  could  have  Lilly  back,  oh,  what  a  sunshine  it  wonld  shed 
over  my  heart  and  life  1  But  this  may  not  be  ;  and  I  can  only 
lore  Cornelia  instead." 

Her  long,  black  lashes  were  weighed  down,  with  unshed  tears, 
Nnd  there  was  a  touching  sadness  in  her  low  voice.  Cornelia 
stood  by  her  side,  busily  engaged  in  dressing  Beulah's  hair  with 
Borne  of  the  roses  and  scarlet  geranium  she  had  gathered.  She 
noticed  the  unusual  melancholy  written  in  the  quiet  face,  and 
Baid  impatiently  : 

"  With  all  my  flowers,  you  won't  look  gay  1  It  must  be  this 
black  dress.  Don't  wear  such  ugly,  dark  things  :  I  wish  you 
wouldn't.  I  want  to  see  you  look  beautiful,  like  mother." 

"Cornelia,  go  and  break  that  cluster  of  yellow  berries  yonder," 
said  her  father  ;  and  when  she  had  left  them,  he  turned  to  his 
companion  and  asked : 

"  Beulah,  have  you  reflected  on  what  I  said  the  last  time  1 
saw  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  Eugene." 

"  With  what  result  V 

"  My  former  decision  is  only  confirmed,  the  moro  I  ponder  tha 
subject." 

"  You  have  seen  nothing  of  Reginald,  then  ?  He  was  here, 
on  some  legal  business,  last  week." 

"  No  ;  he  has  been  in  the  city  several  times  during  the  last 
four  years,  but  never  comes  here  ;  and  except  that  one  letter, 
which  I  did  not  answer,  I  have  heard  nothing  from  him.  I 
doubt  whether  we  ever  meet  again." 

"  You  are  a  strange  woman  !  Such  devotion  as  his  would 
fiare  won  any  other  being.  He  is  as  much  attached  to  you  now 
as  the  day  he  first  offered  you  his  hand.  Upon  my  word,  youi 
obstinacy  provokes  me.  He  is  the  noblest  man  I  ever  knew 
Everything  that  I  should  suppose  a  woman  of  your  nature  would 
admire  ;  and  yet,  year  after  year  you  remain  apparently  as 
indifferent  as  ever." 

"  And  it  were  a  miserable  return  for  such  unmerited  lov*  ttf 


460  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

inarry  him  merely  from  gratitude.     I  do  admire  nim,  but  Cannot 
marry  him.     I  told  him  so  four  years  ago." 

"  Bat  why  did  you  not  at  least  answer  his  letter  ?" 
"  Because   his   acceptance   was   made   the   condition   of    at 
answer  ;  a  negative  one  was  not  expected,  and  I  had  no  othes 
io  give." 

"  Pardon  me,  Beulah  ;  but  why  do  you  not  love  him  ?'' 
45  A  strange  question  truly.  My  heart  is  not  the  tool  of  my  will." 
"  Beulah,  do  you  intend  to  spend  your  life  solitary  and  joyless, 
cut  off,  as  you  are  here,  from  society,  and  dependent  on  oookg 
and  music  for  sympathy  ?     Why  will  you  riot  marry  Reginald, 
ind  make  his  home  happy  ?'•' 

"  Eugene,  I  have  told  you  before  that  I  could  not  accept  him, 
and  told  you  why.'.  Let  the  subject  drop  ;  it  is  an  unpleasant 
one  to  me.  I  am  happier  here  than  I  could  possibly  be  any- 
where else.  Think  you  I  would  marry  merely  for  an  elegant 
home  and  an  intellectual  companion  ?  Never  I  I  will  live  and 
die  here  in  this  little  cottage,  rather  than  quit  it  with  such 
motives.  You  aye  mistaken  in  supposing  that  Mr.  Lindsay  ia 
still  attached  to  me.  It  has  been  nearly  two  years  since  he 
wrote  that  letter,  and  from  Georgia  I  Lear  that  the  world 
believes  he  is.  soon  to  marry  a  lady  rescuing  somewhere  near  him. 
I  think  it  more  than  probable  the  report  is  true,  and  hope  most 
sincerely  it  may  be  so.  Now,  Eugene,  don't  mention  the  subject 
again,  will  you  ?" 

"  It  is  generally  believed  that  he  will  be  elected  to  Congress  ; 
next  month  will  decide  it.  The  chances  are  all  in  bis  favor," 
persisted  Eugene. 

"  Yes  ;  so  I  judged  from  the  papers."  said  she,  coolly,  and 
then  added  :  "  And  one  day  I  hope  to  see  you,  or  rather  hear 
•>l  you,  in  Washington  by  his  side.  I  believe  I  shall  be  grati 


How  I  shall  rejoice  in  your  merited  eminence." 

Her  face  kindled  as  she  spoke,  but  the  shadows  deepened  ii 
his  countenance,  as  he  answered  moodily  : 


BEULAH.  461 

"  Perhaps  I  may  ;  but  fame  and  position  cannot  lighten  » 
loaded  heart,  or  kindle  the  sacred  flame  of  love  in  a  dreary 
home.      When  a  man   blindly   wrecks  his  happiness   on  the 
threshold  of  life  by  a  fatal  marriage,  no  after  exertion  can  atonf  \ 
or  rectify  the  one  mistake." 

"  Hush  !  she  will  hear  yon,"  said  Beulah,  pointing  to  tbi 
little  girl,  who  was  slowly  approaching  them. 

A  bitter  smile  parted  his  lips'. 

"  She  is  my  all ;  yet  precious  as  she  is  to  my  sad  heart,  ( 
would  gladly  lay  her  in  her  grav.e  to-morrow,  sooner  than  see  he. 
live  to  marry  an  uncongenial  spirit,  or  know  that  her  radiant 
face  was  clouded  with  sorrow,  like  mine.  God  grant  that  her 
father's  wretched  lot  may  warn  her  of  the  quicksands  which 
nearly  ingulfed  him."  He  took  the  child  in  his  arms,  as  if  to 
shield  her  from  some  impending  danger,  and  said,  hurriedly  : 

"  Are  you  ready  to  go  home  ?" 

"  Is  it  so  very  late  ?w 

"  It  is  time  we  were  going  back,  I  think." 

Beulah  tied  on  the  hat  and  cape,  which-  had  been  thrown 
aside,  and  saw  them  ride  away. 

There,  in  the  golden  twilight,  she  mused  on  the  changes  time 
bore  on  its  swift  chariot.  The  gorgeous  dreamings  of  hex 
girlhood  had  faded  like  the  summer  clouds  above  her,  to  tho 
sombre  hue  of  reality.  From  the  hour  when  her  father  (a  poor 
artist,  toiling  over  canvas  to  feed  his  children)  had,  in  dying 
accents,  committed  the  two  to  God's  care,  she  only  remembered 
sorrow  up  to  the  time  that  Dr.  Hartwell  took  her  to  his  home. 
Her  life  there  was  the  one  bright  oasis  in  her  desert  past.  Then 
Bhe  left  it  a  woman,  and  began  the  long  struggle  with  poverty 
ftud  trials  over  again.  In  addition,  skepticism  threw  its  iff 
shadow  over  her.  She  had  toiled  in  the  cavernous  mines  of 
metaphysics  hopelessly;  and  finally  returning  to  the  holy  religioi 
of  Jesus  Christ,  her  weary  spirit  found  rest.  Ah,  that  rest 
which  only  the  exhausted  wanderer  through  the  burning  wastes 
>f  speculation  can  trulr  comprehend  and  appreciate  She  had 


162  BEULAH. 

been  ambitious,  and  labored  to  obtain  distinction  as  a  writer  { 
and  this,  under  various  fictitious  signatures,  was  hers.  Sh«j  still 
studied  and  wrote,  but  with  another  aim,  now,  than  mere  desire 
of  literary  fame;  wrote  to  warn  others  of  the  snares  in  which  sb« 
had  so  long  been  entangled,  and  to  point  young  seekers  after 
.ruth  to  the  only  sure  fountain.  She  was  very  lonely,  but  n  )t 
suhappy.  Georgia  and  Helen  were  both  happily  married,  and 
she  saw  them  very  rarely  ;  but  their  parents  were  still  her  coun- 
sellors and  friends.  At  Mrs.  Williams'  death,  they  had  urged 
her  to  remove  to  their  house,  but  she  preferred  remaining  at  the 
little  cottage,  at  least  until  the  expiration  of  the  year.  She  still 
kept  her  place  in  the  school-room  ;  not  now  as  assistant,  but  as 
principal  in  that  department ;  and  the  increased  salary  ren- 
dered rigid  economy  and  music  lessons  no  longer  necessary. 
Her  intense  love  of  beauty,  whether  found  in  nature  or  art,  was 
a  constant  source  of  pleasure  ;  books,  music,  painting,  flowers, 
*""  all  contributed  largely  to  her  happiness.  The  grim  puzzles  of 
philosophy  no  longer  perplexed  her  mind ;  sometimes  they 
thrust  themselves  before  her,  threatening  as  the  sphinx  of  old  ; 
but  she  knew  that  here  they  were  insolvable  ;  that  at  least  her 
reason  was  no  (Edipus,  and  a  genuine  philosophy  induced  her  to 
put  them  aside  ;  and  anchoring  her  hopes  of  God  and  eternity 
in  the  religion  of  Christ,  she  drew  from  the  beautiful  world 
in  which  she  lived  much  pure  enjoyment.  Once  she  had  wor- 
shipped the  universe  ;  now  she  looked  beyond  the  wonderful 
temple  whose  architecture,  from  its  lowest  foundations  of  rock 
to  its  starry  dome  of  sky,  proclaimed  the  God  of  revelation  j 
and  loving  its  beauty  and  grandeur,  felt  that  it  was  but  a  home 
for  a  season,  where  the  soul  could  be  fitted  for  yet  more  perfect 
Dwelling-places.  Her  face  reflected  the  change  which  a  calia 
reliance  on  God  had  wrought  in  her  feelings.  The  restless, 
anxious  expression  had  given  place  to  quiet.  The  eyes  had  lost 
their  strained,  troubled  look  ;  the  brow  was  unruffled,  the  faco 
lerene.  Serene,  reader,  but  not  happy  and  sparkling  as  it  might 
bave  been  All  the  shadows  were  not  yet  banished  from  Yet 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  469 

Heart ;  there  was  one  spectral  form  which  thrust  itself  COD 
tiuuallj  before  her,  and  kept  her  cheek  pale  and  rendered  her  lip 
at  times  unsteady.  She  had  struggled  bravely  against  this  one 
remaining  sorrow;  but  as  time  rolled  on,  its  power  and  influence 
only  increased.  Even  now,  in  this  quiet  hour,  when  a  holy  husb 
fod  fallen  on  all  nature,  and  twilight  wrapped  its  soft,  purplt 
?eil  around  her,  this  haunting  memory  came  to  stir  the  depths 
of  her  heart.  Charon  walked  slowly  up  the  steps,  and  laying 
iown  at  her  feet,  nestled  his  head  against  her.  Then,  faucf 
painted  a  dreary  picture,  which 

"Seemed  all  dark  and  red — a  tract  of  sand, 

And  some  one  pacing  there  alone, 
Who  paced  forever  in  a  glimmering  land, 
Lit  with  a  low,  large  moon." 

It  was  the  thought  of  a  lonely  man,  wandering  without  aim  } 
or  goal  in  far  distant  deserts  ;  away  from  home  and  friends  ;  ; 
joyless,  hopeless.  One  who  was  dearer  to  her  than  all  on  earth 
beside  ;  who  had  left  her  in  anger,  and  upon  whose  loved  face 
she  might  look  no  more.  For  three  years,  no  tidings  had  come 
of  his  wanderings  ;  none  knew  his  fate  ;  and,  perhaps,  even  then 
his  proud  head  lay  low  beneath  the  palms  of  the  Orient,  or  was 
pillowed  on  the  coral  crags  of  distant  seas.  This  thought  wag 
one  she  was  unable  to  endure  ;  her  features  quivered,  her  handi 
grasped  each  other  in  a  paroxysm  of  dread  apprehension,  and 
while  a  deep  groan  burst  from  her  lips,  she  bowed  her  face  on 
tbe  head  of  his  last  charge,  his  parting  gift.  The  consciousness 
of  his  unbelief  torturetl  her.  Even  in  eternity,  they  might  meet 

10  more  ;  and  this  fear  cost  her  hours  of  agony,  such  as  no 
Dther  trial  had  ever  inflicted.     From  the  moment  of  her  return 
to  the  Bible  and  to  prayer,  this  struggle  began,  and  for  three 
pears   she   had    knelt,    morning    and   evening,    and    entreated 

11  mighty  God  to  shield  and  guide  the  wanderer  ;  to  scatter  th« 
mists  of  unbelief  which  shrouded  his  mind.     Constantly  hei 
prayers  went  ap,  mingled  with  tears  and  Bobs,  and  as  wearj 


464  B  K  U  L  A  H  . 

months  wore  on,  the  petitions  grew  more  impassioned.  Hei 
anxiety  increased  daily,  and  finally  it  became  the  one  intense, 
absorbing  wish  of  her  heart,  to  see  her  guardian  again.  His 
gloom,  his  bitterness,  were  all  forgotten  ;  she  only  remembered 
his  unceasing  care  and  kindness,  his  noble  generosity,  hii 
brilliant  smile,  which  was  bestowed  onlj  on  her.  Pressing  hei 
face  against  Charon's  head,  she  murmured  pleadingly  : 

"  Oh,  Father,  protect  him  from  suffering  and  death  1  Guide 
him  safely  home.  Give  me  my  guardian  back.  Oh,  Father, 
give  me  my  wandering  friend  once  more  1" 


CHAPTER     XXXVII. 

"  FOLD  that  coat  for  me,  my  dear  ;  there,  give  it  to  me,  1 
believe  there  is  room  in  this  trunk  for  it." 

Mrs.  Asbury  took  one  of  her  husband's  coats  from  Beulah's 
hand,  and  carefully  packed  it  away. 

"  How  long  will  you  be  absent,  do  you  suppose  ?" 

"  Probably  not  longer  than  a  month.  The  doctor  thinks  a 
few  days  at  Saratoga  will  invigorate  him.  If  you  had  consented 
to  go,  we  had  intended  spending  a  week  at  Niagara.  I  am 
Bony  you  will  not  go,  Beulah  ;  you  would  enjoy  the  trip,  and, 
!  moreover,  the  change  would  benefit  you.  Why  do  you  so  per- 
1  tinaciously  reject  that  legacy  of  Cornelia's.  The  money  has 
been  in  my  husband's  hands  for  some  years  untouched,  and  Mr 
Graham  said,  not  long  since,  that  you  might  just  as  well  accept 
it,  for  he  would  never  receive  a  cent  of  it  in  return.  The  origi 
Dal  sum  has  been  considerably  augmented  by  judicious  invest- 
ments and  would  place  you  above  the  necessity  of  labcr,  if  yon 
would  accept  it.  Your  refusal  wounds  Mr.  Graham  ;  he  told 
toe  so  last  week.  It  was  Cornelia's  particular  request  that  JOB 


BEUIAH.  466 

Should  have  that  amount,  and  he  is  anxious  .o  see  you  in  posses- 
sion oi  it.  I  told  him  of  your  suggestion,  that  he  should  ad(f 
this  legacy  to  the  sum  already  given  to  the  Asylum  .;  but  h« 
vowed  solemnly,  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  If  you 
chose  to  give  it  to  the  Asylum,  you  could  do  so  of  course,  tht 
money  was  yours  ;  he  never  would  touch  a  cent  of  it.  Beulah 
it'  yoc  will  not  think  me  officious,  I  will  say,  candidly,  that  I 
think  you  ought  to  accept  it.  That  is,  use  it,  for  the  legacy  had 
been  left,  whether  you  employ  it  or  not." 

Beulah  looked  grave  and  troubled,  but  made  no  reply. 

Mrs.  Asbury  finished  packing  the  trunk,  locked  it,  and  turning 
toward  the  door,  said  : 

"  I  am  going  up-stairs  to  see  about  the  furniture  in  th  it  room 
which  Georgia  calls  the  'Pitti  Gallery.'  Come  with  me,  m) 
dear." 

She  led  the  way,  and  Beulah  followed,  until  they  reached  a 
large  apartment  in  the  third  story,  the  door  of  which  Mrs. 
Asbury  unlocked.  As  they  entered,  Beulah  started  on  seeing 
the  statuary  and  paintings  with  which  she  was  so  familiar  in 
former  years  ;  and  in  one  corner  of  the  room  stood  the  melodeon, 
carefully  covered.  A  quantity  of  tissue  paper  lay  on  the  floor 
and  Mrs.  Asbury  began  to  cover  the  paintings  by  pinning  the 
sheets  together.  Beulah  took  off  her  gloves  and  assisted ;  there 
was  silence  for  some  time,  but  on  lifting  a  piece  of  drapery, 
Mrs.  Asbury  exposed  the  face  of  a  portrait,  which  Beulab 
recognized  from  the  peculiarity  of  the  frame,  as  the  one  that 
had  hung  over  the  mantel  in  her  guardian's  study.  Paper  and 
pins  fell  from  her  fingers,  and  drawing  a  deep  breath,  she  gazed 
upon  the  face  she  had  so  long  desired  to  see.  She  traced  a 
flight  resemblance  to  Antoinette  in  the  faultless  features  ;  the 
countenance  was  surpassingly  beautiful.  It  was  a  young,  girlish 
face,  sparkling  with  joyousness,  bewitching  in  its  wonderfd 
loveliness.  The  eloquent  eyes  were  strangely,  almost  wildiy 
brilliant,  the  full  crimson  lips  possessed  that  rare  outline  one 
iees  in  old  pictures,  and  the  cheek,  tinted  like  a  gea-fthell,  vested 
20* 


*66  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

on  one,  delicate  dimpled  hand.  Bculah  looked,  and  grew  diziy 
This  was  his  wife  ;  this  the  portrait  he  had  kept  shrouded  so 
long  and  so  carefully.  How  he  must  have  worshipped  that 
rt.diant  young  bride  ? 

Mrs.  -Asbury  noticed  her  emotion,  and  uskcd  with,  some  pur> 
ti'ise : 

"  Did  you  never  see  this  before  ?" 

"  No  ;  it  was  always  covered,  and  hang  too  high  for  me  14 
aft  the  crape."  Beulah's  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  canvas.  Mrs. 
Asbury  watched  her  a  moment  and  said  : 

"  It  is  an  undetermined  question  in  my  mind  whether  beauty, 
such  as  this,  is  not  a  curse.  In  this  instance  assuredly  it  proved 
jo,  for  it  wrecked  the  happiness  of  both  husband  and  wife.  My 
flear  child,  do  you  know  your  guardian's  history  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  of  him,  save  that  he  is  my  best  friend." 

"  When  I  first  saw  Guy  Hartwell,  he  was  one  of  the  noblest 
men  I  ever  met  ;  commanding  universal  admiration  and  esteem 
It  was  before  his  marriage  ;  he  was  remarkably  handsome,  aa 
you  can  readily  imagine  he  must  have  been,  and  his  manners 
possessed  a  singular  fascination  for  all  who  came  within  the 
circle  of  his  acquaintance.  Even  now,  after  the  lapse  of  ten 
years,  I  remember  his  musical,  ringing  laugh  ;  a  laugh  I  have 
never  heard  since.  His  family  were  aristocratic  and  wealthy, 
and  Guy  was  his  mother's  idol.  She  was  a  haughty,  imperious 
woman,  and  her  '  boy,'  as  she  fondly  termed  him,  was  her  pride. 
II is  only  sister  (Mrs.  Ghilton,  or  rather  Mrs.  Lockhart,)  was  his 
senior,  and  he  had  a  younger  brother,  Harry,  who  was  extremely 
wild  ;  ran  away  from  borne,  and  spent  most  of  his  time  at  sea. 
Ouy  was  naturally  of  a  happy,  genial  temperament;  fond  of  study; 
fond  of  art,  flowers,  poetry,  everything  that  was  noble  and  beau- 
tiful, that  could  minister  to  highly  cultivated  tastes.  Mr.  Chit 
ton  was  unfortunate  in  his  speculations  ;  lost  his  fortune,  and 
died  soon  after  Pauline's  birth,  leaving  his  wife  and  child 
iependent  on  her  mother  and  brother.  May  and  the  old  lady 
tften  disagreed,  and  only  Guy  could  harmonize  their  di» 


BEULAH.  46? 

eords.  During  a  visit  to  New  Orleans,  he  accidentally  met  tha 
original  of  this  portrait  ;  her  family  were  almost  destitute,  but 
ne  aided  them  very  liberally.  She  was  very  beautiful,  and  in  an 
unlucky  hour  he  determined  to  marry  her.  She  was  a  mere 
diild,  and  he  placed  her  for  a  while  at  a  school,  where  she 
enjoyed  every  educational  adrantage.  He  was  completely  fa*  i 
einated  ;  seeraed  to  think  only  of  Creola,  and  hastened  th«  j 
marriage.  His  mother  and  sister  bitterly  opposed  the  match, 
ridiculed  his  humble  and  portionless  bride  ;  but  he  persisted, 
and  brought  !:\\r  here  a  beautiful,  heedless  girl.  Guy  built  that 
house,  aod  his  mother  and  sister  occupied  one  near  him,  which 
v;as  burnt  before  you  knew  anything  about  them.  Of  course  Mi 
wife  went  constivAl.y  into  society,  and  before  six  months  elapsed, 
poor  Guy  disc  mrtd  that  he  had  made  a  fatal  mistake.  She  •' 
did  not  love  Vim  ;  had  married  him  merely  for  the  sake  of  an 
elegant  hop  *,  and  money  to  lavish  as  her  childish  whims  dic- 
tated. A}  beulah  1  it  makes  my  heart  ache  to  think  of  the 
change  tb'j  discovery  wrought  in  Guy's  nature.  He  was  a  proud 
man,  nat'  .rally  ;  but  now  he  became  repulsive,  cold  and  austere. 
The  reT  jlution  in  his  deportment  and  appearance  was  almost 
incrediHe.  His  wife  was  recklessly  imprudent,  and  launched 
into  the  wildest  excesses  which  society  sanctioned.  When  he 
endeavored  to  restrain  her,  she  rebelled,  and  without  his  know- 
ledrjo  carried  on  a  flirtation  with  one  whom  she  had  known 
previous  to  her  marriage.  I  believe  she  was  innocent  in  her 
folly,  and  merely  thoughtlessly  fed  her  vanity  with  the  adula- 
tion excited  by  her  beauty.  Poor  child  1  she  might  have  learned 
discretion,  but  unfortunately  Mrs.  Chilton  had  always  detested 
her,  and  now*  watching  her  movements,  she  discovered  Creola'a 
clandestine  meetings  with  the  gentleman  whom  her  husband  had 
forbidden  her  to  recognize  as  an  acquaintance.  Instead  of 
exert-.ng  herself  to  rectify  the  difficulties  in  her  brother's  home, 
Bhe  apparently  exulted  in  the  possession  of  facts  which  allowed 
her  to  taunt  him  with  his  wife's  imprudence  and  indifference 
He  denied  the  truth  of  her  i>  wertiou* ;  she  dared  him  to  watcfc 


468  BEULAH. 

her  conduct,  and  obtained  a  note  which  enabled  him  to  returi 
home  one  day,  at  an  unusually  early  hour,  and  meet  the  man  ha 
had  denounced  in  his  own  parlor.  Guy  ordered  him  out  of  the 
,  and,  without  addressing  his  wife,  rode  back  to  see  his 
;  but  that  night  he  learned  from  her  that  before  he  ever 
oiet  her,  an  engagement  existed  between  herself  and  the  man  he  sc 
detested  He  was  poor,  and  her  mother  had  persuaded  her  to 
marry  Guy  for  his  fortune.  She  seemed  to  grow  frantic,  cursed 
the  hour  of  her  marriage,  professed  sincere  attachment  to  the 
.  other,  and,  I  firmly  believe,  became  insane  from  that  moment 
Then  and  there  they  parted.  Creola  returned  to  her  mother, 
but  died  suddenly  a  few  weeks  after  leaving  her  husband.  They 
had  been  married  but  a  year.  I  have  always  thought  her  mind 
diseased,  and  it  was  rumored  that  her  mother  died  insane 
Doubtless  Guy's  terrible  rage  drove  her  to  desperation  ;  though 
he  certainly  had  cause  to  upbraid.  I  have  often  feared  that  no 
would  meet  the  object  of  his  hatred,  and  once,  and  only  once 
afterward,  that  man  came  to  the  city.  Why,  I  never  knew,  but 
my  husband  told  me  that  he  saw  him  at  a  concert  here  some 
years  ago.  Poor  Guy  !  how  he  suffered  ;  yet  how  silently  he 
bore  it ;  how  completely  he  sheathed  his  heart  of  fire  in  icy  vest- 
ments, lie  never  alluded  to  the  affair  in  the  remotest  manner  ; 
never  saw  her  after  that  night.  He  was  sitting  in  our  library, 
waiting  to  see  my  husband,  when  he  happened  to  open  the  letter 
announcing  her  death.  I  was  the  only  person  present,  and 
noticed  that  a  change  passed  over  his  countenance  ;  I  spoke  to 
him,  but  he  did  not  reply ;  I  touched  him,  but  he  took  no  notice 
whatever,  and  sat  for  at  least  an  hour  without  moving  a  muscle, 
or  uttering  a  word.  Finally  George  came  and  spoke  to  him 
appealingly.  He  looked  up  and  smiled.  Oh,  what  a  smile  ! 
May  I  never  see  such  another ;  it  will  haunt  me  while  I  live  1 
Without  a  word  he  folded  the  letter,  replaced  it  in  the  envelope, 
atd  left  us.  Soon  after  his  mother  died,  and  he  went  immedi- 
ately to  Europe,  lie  was  absent  two  years,  and  came  back  s« 
stern,  so  cynical,  so  uniikf  hie  former  self,  I  scarcely  knew  him 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  46J» 

Mrs.  Clnltot.  took  charge  of  his  house  from  the  iour  of  his  separa 
tion  from  Creola,  but  they  were  not  congenial,  lie  was  vastlj 
her  superior,  save  in  intellect,  which  none  of  the  Hartwell  family 
ever  lacked.  My  husband  is  very  much  attached  to  Guy;  think* 
he  has  not  an  equal,  yet  mourns  over  the  blight  which  fell  upon 
him  in  the  very  morn  of  his  glorious  manhood.  About  a  year 
after  his  return  from  Europe,  he  took  you  to  his  house  as  an 
adopted  child.  I  wondered  at  it,  for  I  knew  how  imbittered  hii 
whole  soul  had  become.  But  the  heart  must  have  an  idol;  he 
was  desolate  and  miserable,  and  took  you  home  to  have  some- 
thing to  love  and  interest  him.  You  never  knew  him  in  the 
prime  of  his  being,  for  though  comparatively  young  in  years,  he 
had  grown  prematurely  old  in  feeling  before  you  saw  him.  Poor 
Guy  !  may  a  merciful  and  loviug  God  preserve  him  wherever 
he  may  be,  and  bring  him  to  a  knowledge  of  that  religion  which 
alone  can  comfort  a  nature  like  his;  so  noble,  so  gifted,  yet  so 
injured,  so  imbittered." 

She  brushed  away  the  tears  that  stood  on  her  cheeks,  and 
looked  sorrowfully  at  the  portrait  of  the  unfortunate  young 
wife. 

Beulah  sat  with  her  face  partially  averted,  and  her  eyes  shaded 
with  her  hand  ;  once  or  twice  her  lips  moved,  and  a  shiver  ran 
over  her.  She  looked  up,  and  said,  abruptly  : 

"  Leave  the  key  of  this  room  with  me,  will  you  ?  I  should 
like  to  come  here  occasionally." 

"  Certainly,  come  as  often  as  you  choose  ;  and  here  on  thU 
bunch  is  the  key  of  the  melodeon.  Take  it,  also  ;  the  instrument 
needs  dusting,  I  dare  say,  for  it  has  never  been  opened  since  Guy 
(oft,  nearly  five  years  ago.  There,  the  clock  struck  two,  and  tin 
boat  leaves  at  four  ;  there,  too,  is  my  husband's  step.  Come, 
iTsy  dear,  we  must  go  down.  Take  these  keys  until  I  return." 

She  gave  them  to  her,  and  they  descended  to  the  dining-room, 
where  the  doctor  awaited  them. 

"Benlah,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself  next  year  I 
You  must  not  think  of  living  in  that  cottage  alone.  Since  Mn 


4<0  BEULAH. 

Williams'  death,  yoo  should  abandon  the  thought  of  keeping 
house.  It  will  not  do,  child,  for  you  to  live  there  by  yourself." 
So  said  the  doctor,  a  short  time  before  he  bade  her  adieu. 

"  1  don't  know  yet  what  I  shall  do.  I  am  puzzled  about  a 
home." 

"  You  need  not  be  ;  come  and  live  in  my  house,  as  I  beggee 
foa  tc  do  long  ago.  Alice  and  I  will  be  heartily  glad  to  have 
you,  Child,  why  should  you  hesitate  ?" 

"  I  prefer  a  home  of  my  own,  if  circumstances  permitted  it.  You 
and  Mrs.  Asbury  have  been  very  kind  in  tendering  me  a  home 
in  your  house,  and  I  do  most  sincerely  thank  you  both  for  your 
friendly  interest,  but  I  " 

"  Oh,  Beulah,  I  should  be  so  very  glad  to  have  you  always 
with  me.  My  dear  child,  come." 

Mrs.  Asbury  passed  her  arm  affectionately  around  the  girl'a 
waist.  Beulah  looked  at  her  with  trembling  lips,  and  said 
hastily: 

"  Will  you  take  me  as  a  boarder  ?" 

"  I  would  rather  take  you  as  a  friend — as  a  daughter." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  Alice.  She  shall  pay  the  highest  possible 
board.  Don't  imagine,  Miss  Independence,  that  I  expected  for  a 
moment  to  offer  you  a  home  gratis.  Pay  board  ?  That  you 
shall  ;  always  in  advance,  and  candles,  and  fires,  and  the  use  of 
my  library,  and  the  benefit  of  my  explanations,  and  conversation 
charged  as  '  extras,'  "  cried  the  doctor,  shaking  his  fist  at  her. 

"  Then,  sir,  I  engage  rooms." 

"  Will  you  really  come,  my  child?"  asked  Mrs.  Asbury,  kissing 
the  orphan's  pale  cheek  tenderly. 

"  Gladly,  as  a  boarder,  and  very  grateful  for  such  a  privi- 
lege." 

"Beulah,  on  reflection,  I  think  I  can  possibly  take  Charon  foi 
ialf  price;  though  I  must  confess  to  numerous  qualms  of  con- 
science at  the  bare  suggestion  of  receiving  such  an  "  infernal " 
character  into  my  household." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she,  and  saw  them  depart  for  Saratoga, 


BEULAH.  471 

whither  Georgia  and  Helen  had  preceded  them.  Several  wceki 
elapsed  without  her  receiving  any  tidings,  and  then  a  letter  came 
giving  her  information  of  a  severe  illness  which  had  attacked  the 
doctor,  immediately  after  his  arrival  in  New  York.  He  was  COD- 
Talescing  rapidly  when  his  wife  wrote,  and  in  proof  thereof,  sub- 
Joined  a  postscript,  in  his  scrawling  hand  and  wonted  banteiing 
style.  Beulah  laughed  over  it,  refolded  the  letter,  and  went  into 
her  little  garden  to  gather  a  bouquet  for  one  of  her  pupils 
who  had  recently  been  quite  sick.  She  wore  a  white  muslin  apron 
over  her  black  dress,  and  soon  filled  it  with  verbena,  roses  and 
geranium  sprigs.  Sitting  down  on  the  steps,  she  began  to 
arrange  them,  and  soon  became  absorbed  in  her  occupation. 
Presently  a  shadow  fell  oa  the  step  ;  she  glanced  up,  and  the 
flowers  dropped  from  her  fingers,  while  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise escaped  her. 

Mr.  Lindsay  held  out  his  hand. 

"  After  four  years  of  absence,  of  separation,  have  you  no  word   . 
of  welcome  ?" 

She  gave  him  both  hands,  and  said,  eagerly: 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again  ;  very  glad  that  I 
have  an  opportunity  of  congratulating  you  on  your  signal  success 
I  am  heartily  glad  my  friend  is  soon  to  enter  Congressional 
halls.  Accept  my  most  sincere  congratulations  on  your  election." 

A  sudden  flush  rose  to  his  temples,  and  clasping  her  hands 
tightly,  he  exclaimed,  passionately: 

"  Oh,  Beulah,  your  congratulations  mock  me.  I  come  to  offer 
you,  once  more,  my  hand,  my  heart,  my  honors,  if  I  have  any 
I  have  waited  patiently  :  no,  not  patiently,  but  still  I  have 
waited,  for  some  token  of  remembrance  from  you,  and  could 
bear  my  suspense  no  longer.  Will  you  share  the  position  which 
has  been  accorded  me  recently  ?  Will  you  give  me  this  hanij 
which  I  desire  more  intensely  than  the  united  honors  of  the  uni 
verse  beside  ?  Beulah,  has  my  devoted  love  won  me  your  affec 
lion  ?  Will  you  go  with  me  to  Washington  ?" 

"I  cannot;  I  cannot.' 


ftTis  BEULAH. 

"  Cannot  ?  Oh,  Beulah,  I  would  make  you  a  happy  wife,  il 
It  cost  me  my  life  I" 

"No.  I  could  not  be  happy  as  your  wife.  It  is  utterlj 
impossible.  Mr.  Lindsay,  I  told  you  long  ago  you  could  neve! 
»e  more  than  a  friend." 

"  And  have  years  wrought  no  change  in  your  heart  ?'' 

"  Years  have  strengthened  my  esteem,  my  sincere  friendship} 
out  more  than  this,  all  time  cannot  accomplish." 

"-Your  heart  is  tenacious  of  its  idol,"  be  answered,  moodily. 

"  It  rebels,  sir,  now  as  formerly,  at  the  thought  of  linking  my 
destiny  with  that  of  one  whom  I  never  loved."  Beulah  spoke 
rapidly,  her  checks  burned  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with  dis- 
pleasure. 

He  looked  at  her  and  sighed  deeply,  then  threw  down  a 
letter,  saying: 

"  Ah,  Beulah,  I  understood  long  ago  why  you  could  not  love 
me;  but  I  hoped  years  of  absence  would  obliterate  the  memory 
that  prevented  my  winning  you.  I  made  unusual  exertions  to 
discover  some  trace  of  your  wandering  guardian;  have  written 
constantly  to  my  former  banker  in  Paris,  to  find  some  clue  to 
his  whereabouts.  Through  him  I  learn  that  your  friend  was. 
last  heard  of  at  Canton,  and  the  supposition  is  that  he  is  no 
longer  living.  I  do  not  wish  to  pain  you,  Beulah ;  but  I  would 
fain  show  you  how  frail  a  hope  you  cling  to.  Believe  me,  dear 
Beulah,  I  am  not  so  selfish  as  to  rejoice  at  his  prolonged  absence, 
No,  no.  Love,  such  as  mine,  prizes  the  happiness  of  its  object 
above  all  other  things.  Were  it  in  my  power,  I  would  restore 
him  to  you  this  moment.  I  had  hoped  you  would  learn  to  love 
me,  but  I  erred  in  judging  your  nature.  Henceforth,  I  will  casi 
off  this  hope,  and  school  myself  to  regard  you  as  my  friend  only. 
3  have,  at  least,  deserved  your  friendship." 

"  And  it  is  inalienably  yours,"  cried  she,  very  earnestly. 

"  In  future,  when  toiling  to  discharge  my  duties,  I  may  believe 
1  have  one  sincere  friend,  who  will  rejoice  at  my  success  ?" 

"  Of  this  you  may  well  rest  assured.     It  seems  a  poor  return 


B  B  U  L  A  H  ,  478 

Mr  Lindsay,  for  all  you  have  tendered  me;  bnt  it  is  the  most  I 
can  give,  the  most  an  honest  heart  will  allow  me  to  offer.  Truly, 
you  may  always  claim  my  friendship  and  esteem,  if  it  has  anj 
worth." 

"  I  prize  it  far  more  than  your  hand,  unaccompanied  by  your 
$3art.  Henceforth,  we  will  speak  of  the  past  no  more;  only  let 
ffle  be  the  friend  an  orphan  may  require.  You  are  to  live  in  my 
ancle's  house,  I  believe;  I  am  very  glad  you  have  decided  to  do 
so;  this  is  not  a  proper  home  for  you  now.  How  do  you  con- 1 
trive  to  exorcise  loneliness  ?" 

"  I  do  not  always  succeed  very  well.  My  flowers  are  a  great 
resource;  I  don't  know  how  I  should  live  without  them.  My 
iooks,  too,  serve  to  occupy  my  attention."  She  was  making  a 
great  effort  to  seem  cheerful,  but  he  saw  that  her  smile  was 
forced;  and  with  an  assurance  that  he  would  see  her  again 
before  he  went  to  Washington,  he  shook  hands  cordially,  and 
left  her.  She  tied  her  bouquet,  and  dispatched  it  to  the  sick 
child,  with  a  few  lines  of  kind  remembrance;  then  took  the  let- 
ter, which  Mr.  Lindsay  had  thrown  on  the  steps,  and  opened  it, 
with  trembling  fingers: 

"MR.  R.  LINDSAY. 

44  DEAR  SIR  :  Yours  of  the  3d  came  to  hand  yesterday.  As  I  wrota 
you  before,  I  accidentally  learned  that  Dr.  Hartwell  had  been  in  Canton; 
but  since  that,  have  heard  nothing  from  him,  and  have  been  unable  to 
trace  him  further.  Letters  from  Calcutta  state  that  he  left  that  city,  more 
{ban  a  year  since,  for  China.  Should  I  obtain  any  news  of  him,  iest 
assured  it  shall  be  immediately  transmitted  to  you. 

44  Very  respectfully, 

UR.  A.  FIELDS." 

She  crumpled  the  sheet,  and  threw  it  from  her;  and  if  em 
Earnest,  heart-spoken  prayer  availed,  her  sobbing  cry  to  tht 
God  of  travellers  insured  his  safety. 


*74  BEULAH. 


CHAPTER    XXXVlII 

OKK  day  there  came  a  letter,  postmarked  from  an  inland  uwn, 
where  Beulah  had  no  correspondent.  The  direction,  howevei, 
Was  instantly -recognized,  and  she  broke  the  seal  hurriedly: 

"  What  has  become  of  you,  Beulah?  and  what  can  have  become  of  mj 
Iwo  letters  which  were  never  answered?  Concluding  you  never  received 
them,  I  hazard  a  third  attempt  to  reach  you  through  the  medium  of  letters. 
You  will  readily  perceive  that  we  have  removed  to  a  distant  section  of  the 
State.  Ernest  was  called  to  take  charge  of  this  parish,  and  we  are  delight- 
fully located  here,  within  a  fer  minutes'  walk  of  the  church.  Beulah,  the 
storm  which  darkened  over  me  in  the  first  year  of  my  marriage,  has  swept 

i  by,  and  it  is  all  sunshine,  glorious  sunshine,  with  me.  You  know  my  homo 
was  very  unhappy  for  a  time.  My  husband's  family  caused  misunder- 
standings between  us,  influenced  him  against  me,  and  made  me  very, 
very  wretched.  I  could  not  tolerate  Lucy's  presence,  with  any  degree  oi 
patience,  yet  she  would  remain  in  our  house.  How  it  would  have  ended 
only  Heaven  knows,  had  not  my  husband  been  suddenly  taken  very  ill 
It  was  on  Sabbath  morning.  He  was  displeased  with  me,  because  of  soma 
of  my  disputes  with  his  sister,  and  scarcely  spoke  to  me  before  he  went 
into  the  pulpit.  Lucy  and  I  sat  together  in  the  rector's  pew,  hating  each 
other  cordially  ;  and  when  Ernest  began  the  morning  service,  I  noticed  he 
looked  pale  and  weary.  Before  it  was  concluded,  he  sank  back  exhausted, 
and  was  borne  into  the  vestry-room,  covered  with  blood.  He  had  a 
severe  hemorrhage  from  the  throat,  his  physician  said,  but  Ernest  thinks 
it  was  from  his  lungs.  I  was  sure  he  would  die ;  and  oh,  Beulah,  what 
a^ony  I  endured,  as  I  sat  beside  him,  and  watched  his  ghastly  face !  But 
his  illness  was  '  the  blessing  in  disguise ;'  he  forgot  all  our  disgraceful 

:  bickerings,  and  was  never  satisfied  unless  I  was  with  him.  Lucy  grumbled, 
uid  sneered,  and  looked  sour;  but  I  had  my  husband's  heart  again,  att' 
ittermined  to  keep  it.  As  soon  as  he  was  strong  enough,  I  told  him  how 
yretched  I  had  been,  and  how  sincerely  I  desired  to  make  him  happy,  if 
Lucy  would  only  not  interfere.  He  saw  thai  our  domestic  peace  was 
dependent  upon  the  change,  and  from  that  hour  his  sister  ceased  meddling 
*ith  my  affairs.  What  he  said  to  her  I  never  knew;  but  soon  after  hii 
recovery,  she  returned  to  her  parents,  and  I  was  left  in  peace,  I  began, 


BEULAH.  475 

to  sober  earnest,  to  be  all  my  husband  wished  me;  read  the  books  he 
uked  (though  it  was  a  terrible  bore  at  first) ;  read  to  him  ;  took  part  in  ul] 
die  societies  connected  with  his  church ;  and,  in  short,  became  quite  a 
demure  pastor's  wife.  Occasionally,  my  old  fondness  for  fun  would  break 
frut,  to  the  horror  of  some  of  his  antediluvian  flock ;  but  Ernest  was  very 
good,  and  bore  patiently  with  me,  and  now  I  am  as  prim  and  precise  a* 
any  olil  maid  of  sixty.  At  home  I  do  as  I  like,  that  is,  when  Ernest  likefi 
it  too.  I  sing,  and  play,  and  romp,  with  the  dogs  and  kittens;  but  thj 
moment  the  door  bell  rings,  lo.  a  demure  matron  receives  her  guests! 
Ernest's  health  is  quite  restored,  and  I  am  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long. 
You  should  see  me  working  in  my  garden,  and  sometimes  churning  before 
breakfast,  to  give  Ernest  a  fresh  glass  of  buttermilk.  I  would  not  change 
places  with  an  empress,  I  am  so  happy.  My  husband  loves  me  better 
than  everything  else  beside,  and  what  more  could  I  desire?  Do  come  and 
eee  me ;  we  would  be  so  delighted  to  have  you  spend  some  time  in  our 
home.  I  am  such  a  genuine  rustic,  you  would  scarcely  recognize  me. 
Just  fancy  me  with  an  apron  on,  my  sleeves  rolled  up,  churning  as  fast  as 
the  dasher  can  fly,  and  singing  at  the  top  of  my  voice.  Mother  was  per- 
fectly shocked,  when  she  first  came  to  live  with  me,  and  vowed  I  should 
not  make  a  '  drudge '  of  myself.  Drudge,  indeed,  because  I  chose  to  do 
something,  with  my  own  hands,  for  my  husband !  I  told  her  I  would 
*  drudge,'  as  she  called  it,  just  as  long  as  Ernest  loved  such  things  as  I 
could  prepare  for  him  myself;  and  I  read  her  those  famous  remarks  of 
Lady  Mary  Montagu,  in  which  all  domestic  pursuits,  even  cooking,  it 
dignified  as  a  labor  of  love ;  whereupon  Ernest  gave  me  a  kiss,  and  mother 
declined  any  further  argumentation  on  the  subject.  How  some  of  my 
fashionable  city  friends  would  elevate  their  fastidious  noses  at  seeing  me, 
with  my  check  aprons,  picking  strawberries,  or  arranging  curds  for  teal 
Come  and  see  me ;  do,  Beulah ;  I  am  the  very  happiest  woman  extant, 
that  is,  I  would  be,  if  I  could  only  know  something  of  Uncle  Guy.  It  ia 
almost  five  years  since  he  left  home,  and  for  a  long,  long  tin  e  we  have 
beard  nothing  from  him.  This  is  the  only  sorrow  I  have.  Sometimes  I 
fear  he  must  have  died  in  some  distant  land,  yet  will  not  believe  it.  I 
want  to  see  him  very  much ;  my  heart  aches  when  I  think  about  him. 
Dear  Uncle  Guy  !  next  to  my  husband,  I  believe  I  love  him  best.  Can'l 
you  tell  me  something  of  him  ?  or  do  you  know  as  little  as  hie  relatives? 
Ernest  sa ys  he  will  walk  into  our  house  some  day,  without  any  intimation 
•f  his  coming.  Oh,  I  hope  so  !  I  endeavor  to  believe  so !  Do  write  to  me. 
I  often  think  of  you,  in  jour  loneliness,  and  wish  you  were  as  happy  af 
for  Mend, 


476  BEULAII. 

.  Bculah  laid  the  letter  beside  one  received  the  previous  daj 
from  Clara,  and  mused  for  some  moments.  They  were  both  hap- 
pily married,  and  she  sincerely  rejoiced  over  their  fortunate  lots,' 
but  Clara  had  once  loved  her  guardian  ;  how  could  she  possibly 
crget  him  so  entirely  ?  Was  love  a  mere  whim  of  the  hour, 
ostcred  by  fortuitously  favorable  circumstances,  but  chilled  and 
Vanquished  by  absence,  or  obstacles  ?  Could  the  heart  demolish 
the  idol  it  had  once  enshrined,  and  set  up  another  image  for 
worship  ?  Was  Time  the  conquering  iconoclast  ?  Why,  then, 
did  she  suffer  more  acutely  as  each  year  rolled  on  ?  She  had 
little  leisure,  however,  for  these  reflections  ;  the  Asburys  had 
returned,  and  the  cottage  had  been  rented  by  a  family,  who  were 
anxious  to  take  possession  immediately.  Such  articles  of  furni- 
ture as  were  no  longer  needed  had  been  sent  to  an  auction  room, 
and  she  sat  down  iu  the  empty  dining-room,  to  see  the  last  load 
removed.  To-day  she  bade  adieu  to  the  cottage,  and  commenced 
boarding  once  more.  Her  heart  was  heavy,  but  her  eyes  were 
undimmed,  and  her  grave,  composed  face,  betokened  little  of  tha 
sorrow  which  oppressed  her.  Here  she  had  spent  five  years  ia 
peaceful  seclusion  ;  here  she  had  toiled  and  earned  reputation  «is 
a  writer  ;  and  here  many  hours  of  happiness  had  been  passed 
among  her  flowers.  The  place  was  very  dear  to  her  ;  it  was  the 
only  spot  on  the  face  of  the  wide  world  she  had  ever  felt  was 
her  home.  Home  !  if  it  consists  of  but  a  sanded  floor,  and  un- 
plastered  walls,  what  a  halo  is  shed  upon  its  humble  hearth  1  A 
palatial  mansion,  or  sequestered  cottage  among  wild  forests,  wei'e 
alike  sanctified  by  the  name.  Home  !  the  heart's  home  1  whc 
shall  compute  its  value  ?  But  Beulah  must  relinquish  her  retreat, 
ttnd  find  refuge  in  the  home  of  others.  Would  this  content  her  ? 
Was  she  to  be  always  homeless?  True,  she  was  to  reside  witli 
loved  and  tried  friends,  yet  she  would  be  a  homeless  orphan  stil\ 
Without  claims  upon  one  living  being.  The  grave  had  closed 
over  the  kind  matron  who  had  so  warmly  loved  her,  and  she  was 
without  ties  in  the  world.  These  thoughts  passed  through  hoi 
mi  ad,  as  Bhe  saw  the  last  chair  deposited  on  a  furniture  cart, 


ESTJLAH.  47J 

ftLd  borne  away,  Charon  looked  up  at  her  mournfully,  as  if  t* 
ask  : 

"  Are  we  homeless?  Where  shall  we  wander  ?"  She  stroked 
his  head,  and  went  into  the  ficwer  garden  to  gather  a  last  bou 
quet  from  plants  she  had  so  carefully  tended.  An  early  frost 
had  nipped  the  buds,  but  the  chrysanthemums  were  in  all  theit 
glory — crimson,  white  and  orange.  She  broke  some  of  the 
beautiful  clusters,  and  with  a  long,  lingering  look,  turned  away. 
The  black  mourning  veil  was  thrown  back  from  a  pale,  calm  face; 
and  as  she  walked  on,  reflecting  upon  the  future,  which  stretched 
dimly  before  her,  she  exclaimed  : 

"  Why  should  I  wish  it  otherwise  ?  The  arms  of  a  merciful 
God  will  shield  me,  under  all  circumstances.  My  life  was  not 
given  for  a  mere  holiday.  So  I  but  do  my  duty  faithfully,  all 
will  be  well.  Ah,  truly,  I  can  say  : 

*' '  Let  me,  then,  be  up  and  doing, 

With  a  heart  for  any  fate  ; 
Still  achieving,  still  pursuing, 

Learn  to  labor,  and  to  wait!' 

Yes,  learn  to  labor  and  to  wait.  The  heart  cries  out  fiercely 
for  its  recompense  ;  is  loth  to  wait.  But  I  can  conquer  even 
this.  I  will  be  patient  and  hopeful.  Duty  is  its  own  recom- 
pense." 

Mrs.  Asbury  spared  no  exertion  to  make  the  orphan  happy  in 
her  house.  She  treated  her  with  the  gentle  frankness  which  cha- 
racterized her  deportment  toward  her  daughters  ;  and  to  identify 
her  with  her  own  family,  often  requested  her  to  assist  in  her 
household  plans.  She  thoroughly  understood  and  appreciated 
Beulah's  nature,  and  perfect  confidence  existed  between  them. 
It  was  nc  sooner  known  that  Beulah  was  an  inmate  of  the  house, 
than  many  persons,  curious  to  see  one  of  whom  rumor  spoke  so 
flatteringly,  availed  themselves  of  the  circumstance  to  make  her 
acquaintance.  Almost  unconsciously,  she  soon  found  herself  tin 


478  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

centre  of  a  circle  of  literary  people,  whom  she  had  cfteu  heard 
of,  but  had  never  known  previously.  Gradually,  her  reservi 
melted  away,  and  her  fine  colloquial  powers  developed  them- 
Belves  ;  but  she  wearied  of  the  visitors — wearied  even  of  the 
themes  discussed,  and  having  passed  her  life  in  section,  found 
in  solitude  a  degree  of  enjoyment  which  society  could  not  confer. 
Helen  had  married  a  planter,  and  resided  at  some  distance  from 
the  city,  but  Georgia  and  her  husband  remained  at  home.  Thus, 
imperceptibly,  time  wore  on.  Eugene  often  came  and  spent  an 
hour  with  Benlah  ;  and  still  more  frequently,  Cornelia  was  sent 
to  while  away  an  evening  with  her  merry  pnittle.  Very  steadily, 
Eugene  advanced  in  his  profession  ;  the  applause  of  the  world 
cheered  him  on,  and  an  enviable  reputation  was  his  at  last. 
Grasping  ambition  lured  him,  step  by  step  ;  and  it  was  evident 
that  he  aimed  at  a  seat  beside  Reginald  Lindsay.  Rejoiced  at 
his  entire  reformation-,  aud  proud  of  his  success,  Beulab  con- 
stantly encouraged  his  aspirations.  Antoinette  was  as  ga/  and 
indifferent  as  ever,  and  Eugene  divided  his  heart  between  hia 
child  and  his  ambition. 

By  a  system  of  rigid  economy  in  the  disposal  of  her  tii^o, 
Beulah  not  only  attended  to  her  school  duties,  her  music,  a:..*!  her 
books,  but  found  leisure,  after  writing  her  magazine  articles,  to 
spend  some  time  each  day  with  the  family  under  whose  roof  she 
resided.  Dr.  Asbury's  health  was  rather  feeble,  aud  of iate  his 
eyes  had  grown  so  dim  as  to  prevent  his  reading  or  writing. 
This  misfortune  was  to  a  great  extent  counterbalanced  bj  hia 
wife's  devoted  attention,  and  often  Beulah  shared  the  duties  of 
the  library.  One  bright  Sunday  afternoon,  she  walked  out  to 
the  cemetery,  which  she  visited  frequently.  In  one  corner  of  4 
small  lot,  inclosed  by  a  costly  iron  railing,  stood  a  beautifnj 
marble  monument,  erected  by  Mr.  Grayson  over  Lilly's  grave 
It  represented  two  angels  bearing  the  child  up  to  its  God.  JusJ 
opposite,  in  the  next  lot,  was  a  splendid  mausoleum  of  the  fines' 
white  marble,  bearing  in  gilt  letters  the  name  "  CORNELIA  GRA» 
RAM,  aged  twenty-three."  It  was  in  the  form  of  a  temple,  witJl 


B  £  U  L  A  H  .  479 

slender  fluted  columns  supporting  the  portico  ;  and  on  the  ornate 
capitals  was  inscribed  in  corresponding  gilt  characters,  "Sileniio! 
Silmtio .'"  At  the  entrance  stood  two  winged  forms,  crowned 
with  wreaths  of  poppies  ;  and  a  pair  of  beautiful  vases  held 
withered  flowers.  Beulah  sat  on  the  marble  steps.  Before  her 
^tretolied  aisles  of  tombstones  ;  the  sunshine  sparkled  on  theif 
polished  surfaces,  and  was  reflected  as  from  countless  mirrors. 
Myrtle  and  laurel-trees  waved  gently  in  the  icy  north  wind,  and 
stately,  solemn  cedars  kept  guard  in  every  iuclosure.  All  waa 
silent  and  still,  save  those  funeral  evergreen  boughs  which  stirred 
softly  as  if  fearful  of  disturbing  the  pale  sleepers  around  them. 
Human  nature  shrinks  appalled  from  death  and  all  that  accom- 
panies it  ;  but  in  the  deep  repose,  the  sacred  hush,  which  reigned 
over  the  silent  city,  there  was  for  Beulah  something  inexpressibly 
soothing.  In  a  neighboring  lot  she  could  see  a  simple  white  slab 
Eugene  had  erected  over  the  remains  of  the  friend  of  their  child- 
hood. Her  labors  ended,  the  matron  slept  near  the  forms  of 
Lilly  and  Cornelia.  Here  winter  rains  fell  unheeded,  and  here 
the  balmy  breath  of  summer  brought  bright  blossoms  and  lux- 
uriant verdure.  Mocking-birds  sang  cheerfully  iu  the  sentinel 
cedars,  and  friends  wandered  slowly  over  the  shelled  walks,  re- 
calling the  past.  Here  there  was  no  gloom  to  affright  the  timid 
soul  ;  all  was  serene  and  inviting.  Why  should  the  living  shrink 
from  a  resting-place  so  hallowed  and  peaceful  ?  And  why  should 
death  be  invested  with  fictitious  horrors  ?  A  procession  entered 
one  of  the  gates,  and  wound  along  the  carriage-road  to  a  remote 
corner  of  the  burying-ground.  The  slow,  measured  tread  of 
ths  horses,  the  crush  of  wheels  on  the  rocky  track,  and  the 
imothered  sobs  of  the  mourners,  all  came  in  subdued  tones  to 
Beulah's  ears.  Then  the  train  disappeared,  and  she  was  again 
hi  solitude.  Looking  up,  her  eyes  rested  on  the  words  above 
her  :  "  Silentiol  silentio  !"  They  were  appropriate,  indeed,  upoc 
the  monument  of  her  who  had  gone  down  into  the  tomb  so  hope* 
le&sly,  so  shudderingly.  Years  had  passed  since  the  only  child 
bod  been  laid  here  ;  yet  the  hour  of  release  was  as  fresh  in  Boa 


480  B  E  U  I  A.  H  . 

lab's  memory  as  though  she  had  seen  the  convulsed  features  bat 
yesterday  ;  and  the  words  repeated  that  night  seemed  now  to  issue 
from  the  marble  lips  of  the  statues  beside  her  :  "  For  here  we 
have  no  continuing  city,  but  seek  one  to  come."  With  her  cheek 
on  her  hand,  the  orphan  sat  pondering  the  awful  mystery  which 
•Darkened  the  last  hour  of  the  young  sleeper  ;  and  looking  back 
;mr  her  own  life,  during  the  season  when  she  "  was  without  God 
»r«d  without  hope,"  she  saw  that  only  unbelief  had  clothed  death 
with  terror.  Once  she  stood  on  this  same  spot,  and  with 
trembling  horror  saw  the  coffin  lowered.  Had  death  touched 
her  then,  she  would  have  shrunk  appalled  from  the  summons, 
but  now  it  was  otherwise. 

"  J  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,  saith  the  Lord  ;  he  that 
believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall  he  live  ;  and 
whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me,  shall  never  die." 

She  believed  ;  and  while  a  beautiful  world  linked  her  to  life, 
and  duty  called  to  constant  and  cheerful  labor,  death  lost  its 
hideous  aspect.  With  a  firm  faith  in  the  Gospel  of  Christ,  she 
felt  that  earth  with  all  its  loveliness  was  but  a  probationary 
dwelling-place  ;  and  that  death  was  an  angel  of  God,  summoning 
the  laborers  to  their  harvest-home.  She  had  often  asked  what 
is  the  aim  and  end  of  life  ?  One  set  of  philosophers  told  her  it 
was  to  be  happy.  Another  exclaimed  it  was  to  learn  to  endure 
with  fortitude  all  ills.  But  neither  satisfied  her  ;  one  promised 
too  much,  the  other  too  little,  and  only  in  revelation  was 
an  answer  found.  Yet  how  few  pause  to  ponder  its  signifi- 
cance. With  the  majority,  life  is  the  all  :  the  springtime,  the 
holiday  ;  and  death  the  hated  close  of  enjoyment.  They  forgeC 


"  Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way  ; 

But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrovr, 

Find  us  further  than  to-day." 

The  path  of  Christianity  is  neither  all  sunshine  nor  all  shadow, 


BEULAH.  481 

checkered  certainly,  but  leading  to  a  final  abode  of  unimaginable 
bliss,  and  with  the  Bible  to  guide  her,  the  orphan  walked  fear- 
lessly on,  discharging  her  duties,  and  looking  unto  God  and  his 
Christ  to  aid  her.  She  sat  on  the  steps  of  the  sepulchre, 
watching  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  gild  the  monumental 
shafts  that  pointed  to  heaven ,  Her  grave  face  might  have  told 
the  scrutinizing  observer  of  years  of  grief  and  struggle  ;  but  it 
also  betokened  an  earnest  soul  calmly  trnsting  the  wisdom  and 
mercy  of  the  All-Father.  She  sighed  as  she  thought  of  the 
gifted  but  unhappy  woman  who  slept  near  her,  and  rising,  walked 
on  to  Lilly's  tomb.  Ten  years  had  rolled  their  waves  over  her 
since  that  little  form  was  placed  here.  She  looked  down  at  the 
simple  epitaph :  "  He  taketh  his  yonng  lambs  home."  The 
cherub  face  seemed  to  beam  upon  her  once  more,  and  the  sweet, 
birdlike  tones  of  her  childish  voice  still  liugered  ia  the  secret 
cells  of  memory.  She  extended  her  arms,  as  if  to  clasp  the 
form  borne  up  by  the  angels,  and  said  tremulously  : 

"  Lilly,  my  sister,  my  white-robed  darling,  but  a  little  while, 
and  we  shall  meet  where  orphanage  is  unknown  1  '  He  docth  all 
things  well !'  Ah,  little  sleeper,  I  can  wait  patiently  for  our 
."eunion." 

As  she  turned  her  steps  homeward,  a  shadowy  smile  stole  a 
ber  features,  and  the  lines  about  her  mouth  resumed  their  w  >ated 
composure. 

"  Bculah,  father  has  been  asking  for  yon,"  said  Georgia,  who 
jaet  her  on  the  staircase. 

"  I  will  go  down  to  him  immediately,"  was  the  cheerful 
answer,  and  putting  away  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  she  went  at  once 
to  the  library.  The  doctor  was  leaning  very  far  back  in  his 
favorite  chair,  and  she  saw  at  a  glance  he  had  fallen  asleep. 

Mrs.  Asbury  sat  at  a  table,  weighing  out  some  medicine  he  had 
directed  sent  to  a  patient.  She  looked  up  as  Beulah  entered, 
jtmiled,  and  said  in  an  undertone  : 

"  My  liege  lord  is  indulging  hi  a  nap.  Come  to  the  fire,  de*r, 
you  look  coid." 

SI 


*  32  B  E  0  L  A  H  . 

She  left  the  room  with  the  medicine,  ami  Beulah  stood  bcfon 
the  bright  wood  fire,  and  watched  the  ruddy  light  flushing  gro- 
tesquely over  the  pictures  on  the  wall.  The  gas  had  not  ret 
been  lighted  ;  she  crossed  the  room,  and  sat  down  before  the 
window.  A  red  glow  still  lingered  in  the  west,  and  one  by  oue, 
the  stars  came  swiftly  out.  She  took  up  a  book  she  had  been 
reading  that  morning,  but  it  was  too  dim  to  see  the  letters,  and 
she  contented  herself  with  looking  out  at  the  stars,  brightening 
as  the  night  deepened.  "So  should  it  be  with  faith,"  thought 
she,  "  and  yet,  as  troubles  come  thick  and  fast,  we  are  apt  to 
decpair."  Mrs.  Asbnry  came  back  and  lighted  the  gas,  but  Beu- 
lah was  too  ixuch  absorbed  to  notice  it.  The  doctor  waked,  and 
began  to  talk  about  the  severity  of  the  winter  further  north,  and 
the  scffering  it  produced  among  the  poor.  Presently  he  ?aid  : 

"  What  has  become  of  that  child,  Beulah — do  you  know, 
Alice  r 

"Yes  ;  there  she  is  by  the  window.  You  were  asleep  when 
Bht-  came  in." 

He  looked  round  and  called  to  her. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about,  Beulah  1  You  look  as  cold 
as  an  iceberg.  Conic  to  the  fire.  Warm  hands  and  feet  will  aid 
your  philosophizing  wonderfully." 

"  I  am  not  philosophizing,  sir,"  she  replied,  without  rising. 

"  I  will  wager  my  elegant  new  edition  of  Coleridge  against 
your  old  one,  that  you  are  I  Now,  out  with  your  cogitations, 
you  incorrigible  dreamer  I" 

"  I  have  won  your  Coleridge.  I  was  only  thinking  of  that 
Talmr.dish  tradition  regarding  Sandalphon,  the  angel  of  prayer." 

"What  of  him?" 

"  Why,  that  he  stands  at  the  gate  of  heaven,  listens  to  th« 
founds  that  ascend  from  earth,  and  gathering  all  the  prayen 
and  entreaties,  as  they  are  wafted  from  sorrowing  humanity, 
they  change  to  flowers  in  his  hands,  and  the  perfume  is  borne 
Into  the  celestial  city  to  God.  Yesterday  I  read  Longfellow's 
linen  on  this  legend,  and  suppose  *^y  looking  up  at  the  star* 


U  K  U  L  A  a  .  4»3 

recalled  it  to  my  mind.  But  Georgia  told  me  yon  asked  for  me 
Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  sir  ?  Aro  there  any  prescriptions 
you  wish  written  off  ?"  She  caine  and  stood  by  his  chair. 

"  No,  thank  you,  child  ;  but  I  should  like  to  hear  more  of 
that  book  you  were  reading  to  me  last  night — that  is,  if  it  will 
ot  weary  you,  my  child." 

"  Certainly  not — here  it  is.  I  was  waiting  for  you  to  ask  ma 
for  more  of  it.  Shall  I  begin  now,  or  defer  it  till  after  tea  ?" 

"  Now,  if  you  please." 

Mrs.  Asbury  seated  herself  on  an  ottoman  at  her  husband's 
feet,  and  threw  her  arm  up  over  his  knee  ;  and  opening  "Butler's 
Analogy,"  Beulah  began  to  read  where  she  left  off  the  previous 
day,  in  the  chapter  on  "  a  future  life." 

With  his  hand  resting  on  his  wife's  head,  Dr.  Asbury  listened 
attentively.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  chapter,  she  turned  to  tha 
dissertation  on  "  personal  identity,"  so  nearly  related  to  it,  and 
read  it  slowly  and  impressively. 

"It  is  remarkably  clear  and  convincing,"  said  the  doctor 
when  she  ceased. 

"  Yes;  his  argument,  that  death,  instead  of  being  an  abnormal 
event,  is  as  much  a  law  of  our  nature  as  birth  (because  neces- 
sary to  future  development),  and  that  as  at  maturity,  we  ha"c 
perfections,  of  which  we  never  dreamed  in  infancy,  so  death  may 
put  us  in  possession  of  new  powers,  by  releasing  us  from  the 
chrysalis  state,  is  one  which  has  peculiar  significance  to  my 
mind.  Had  Cornelia  Graham  studied  it,  she  would  never  have 
been  tortured  by  the  thought  of  that  annihilation  which  she 
fancied  awaited  her.  From  childhood,  this  question  of  '  perso- 
nal identity '  has  puzzled  me  ;  but  it  seems  to  me,  this  brief  trea- 
tise of  Butler  is  quite  satisfactory.  It  should  be  a  text  book  iu 
jtll  educational  institutions ;  should  be  scattered  far  and  wida 
through  the  land." 

Here  the  solemn  tones  of  the  church  bells  told  that  the  houi 
of  evening  service  drew  near.  The  doctor  started,  and  said, 
ahruotly  : 


184  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

"Bless  me  !     Alice,  are  we  to  have  no  lea  to-night  ?" 

"  Yes,  the  tea  bell  rang  some  minutes  ago,  but  Beulah  had  not 
quite  finished  her  chapter,  aud  I  would  not  interrupt." 

As  they  walked  on  to  the  dining-room,  he  said  : 

"  You  two  are  going  to  church,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No,  I  shall  remain  with  you,"  answered  his  wife,  gently. 

"  You  need  not,  my  dear.  I  will  go  with  you,  if  you  prefct 
It." 

Beulah  did  not  look  up,  but  she  knew  that  true-hearted  wife 
was  unspeakably  happy  ;  and  understood  why,  during  tea,  she 
was  so  quiet,  so  unwontedly  silent. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

"  I  WISH  Hartwell  would  come  home,  and  attend  to  his  busi- 
ness," muttered  Dr.  Asbury,  some  weeks  later  ;  and  as  he  spoke, 
be  threw  his  feet  impatiently  over  the  fender  of  the  grate,  look- 
kig  discontented  enough. 

"  He  will  come,  sir  ;  he  will  come,"  answered  Beulah,  who  sat 
Dear  him. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  so  well,  child  ?  Why  do  you  sup- 
pose he  will  come  ?"  asked  the  doctor,  knitting  his  bushy  grey 
eyebrows. 

"  Perhaps,  because  I  wish  it  so  very  much  ;  and  hope  and 
faith  are  nearly  allied,  you  know;  and  perhaps  more  than  this — • 
because  I  have  prayed  so  long  for  his  return." 

She  sat  with  her  hands  folded,  looking  quietly  into  the  glow 
»g  grate.  The  old  man  watched  her  a  moment,  as  the  firelight 
glared  over  her  grave,  composed  face,  aud  tears  came  suddenly 
into  his  eyes. 

"When  Harry  Hartwell  died  (about  eighteen  months  since) 
he  left  his  share  of  the  estate  to  Guy.  It  is  one  of  the  fluent 


B  E  TT  L  A  H  .  48fl 

plantations  in  tuo  State,  and  for  the  last  three  years  the  crops 
have  been  remarkably  good.  The  cotton  has  been  sold  rcgu 
larly,  and  the  bulk  <,f  the  money  is  still  in  the  hands  of  the 
factor.  Yesterday  I  happened  to  pass  the  old  house,  and  rode 
in  to  see  how  things  looked  ;  positively,  child,  you  would 
Bwirecly  recognize  the  place.  You  know  the  Parleys  only  ocen 
pied  it  a  few  months  ;  since  that  time  it  has  been  rented.  Just 
now  it  is  vacant,  and  such  a  deserted  looking  tenement  1  have 
not  seen  for  many  days.  As  far  as  I  am  concerned  " 

Here  a  servant  entered  to  inform  the  doctor  that  he  was 
wanted  immediately  to  see  one  of  his  patients.  He  kicked  off 
his  slippers,  and  got  up,  grumbling  : 

"A  plague  on  Guy's  peregrinating  proclivities.  I  am  getting 
too  old  tu  jump  up  every  three  seconds,  to  keep  somebody's  baby 
from  jerking  itself  into  a  spasm,  or  suffocating  with  the  croup 
Hartwell  ought  to  be  here  to  take  all  this  practice  off  nij 
hands." 

He  put  on  his  overcoat,  and  went  out. 

Benlah  sat  quite  still  for  some  minutes  after  his  departure  ; 
then  glancing  at  the  clock,  she  started  up  suddenly. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  my  dear  ?"  said  Mrs.  Asbury,  looking 
up  from  a  letter  she  was  writing  to  Helen. 

"  To  walk." 

"  But  Mr  Leonard  is  coming  here  this  afternoon  to  see  you  ? 
he  requested  me  to  tell  you  so." 

"  I  don't  want  to  sec  him." 

"  But,  my  dear,  he  has  already  called  several  times  recently 
without  seeing  you." 

"  And  if  he  had  any  penetration,  he  might  perceive  that  the 
avoidance  was  intended.  I  am  tired  of  his  frequent  visits  and 
endless  harangues,  and  he  might  see  it  if  he  chose."  She  looked 
rather  impatient. 

Mrs.  Asbury  had  sealed  her  letter,  and  approaching  the  rug 
where  Beulah  stood,  she  laid  her  soft  hand  on  her  shoulder,  an^ 
•aid  gently  : 


486  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

"  My  dear  child,  do  not  think  me  officious,  or  prompted  bj 
mere  idle  curiosity,  if  I  ask,  do  you  intend  to  reject  him  ?" 

"  Why,  ina'm,  1  have  rejected  him  once,  and  still  he  forces  his 
society  upon  me.  As  to  staying  at  home  to  see  him,  I  wou't  do 
it" 

Mrs.  Asbury  seemed  surprised,  and  said,  smilingly  : 

"  Upon  my  \vord,  Benlah,  you  seem  fastidious,  indeed.  Wha 
possible  objection  could  you  find  to  Hugh  Leonard  ?  Why,  niy 
iear,  he  is  the  best  match  hi  the  city." 

"  I  would  about  as  soon  think  of  marrying  the  doctor's  arm- 
chair, there." 

Beuiah  went  to  her  own  room,  and  put  on  her  bonnet  and 
cloak.  Charon  very  rarely  attended  her  in  her  rambles  ;  he  had 
grown  old,  and  was  easily  fatigued,  but  this  afternoon  she 
called  to  him,  and  they  set  out.  It  was  a  mild,  sunny  evening 
for  winter,  and  she  took  the  street  leading  to  her  guardian's  old 
residence.  A  quick  walk  soon  brought  her  into  the  suburbs, 
and  ere  long  she  stood  before  the  entrance.  The  great  central 
gnte  was  chained,  but  the  little  side  gate  was  completely 
broken  from  its  hinges,  and  lay  on  the  ground.  Alas  1  this 
was  but  the  beginning  ;  as  she  entered,  she  saw,  with  dismay, 
that  the  yard  was  full  of  stray  cattle.  Cows,  sheep,  goats, 
browsed  about  undisturbed  among  the  shrubbery,  which  her 
guardian  had  tended  so  carefully.  She  had  uot  been  here  since 
he  sold  it.,  but  even  Charon  saw  that  something  was  strangely 
amiss,  tic  bounded  off,  and  soon1  cleared  the  inclosure  of  the 
herd,  which  had  become  accustomed  to  grazing  here.  Beuiah 
walked  slowly  up  the  avenue  ;  the  aged  cedars  whispered 
hoarsely  above  her  as  she  passed,  and  the  towering  poplar.", 
WnDse  ceaseless  silvery  rustle  had  aa  indescribable  charm  i\t 
"Her  in  summers  past,  now  tossed  their  bare  boughs  toward  her 
"a  mute  complaining  of  the  desolation  which  surrounded  them. 
The  reckless  indifference  of  tenants  has  deservedly  grown  into 
a  proverb,  and  here  Beuiah  beheld  an  exemplification  of  iti 
truth.  Ol  all  the  choice  shrubbery  which  it  had  been  che  label 


BKCLAH.  487 

of  years  to  collect  and  foster  ;  not  a  particle  remained.  Roses, 
creepers,  bulbs — all  were  destroyed,  and  only  the  trees  and 
hedges  were  spared.  The  very  outline  of  the  beds  was  effaced 
iii  many  places,  and  walking  round  the  paved  circle  in  front  ol 
tUe  door,  she  paused  abruptly  at  the  desolation  which  greeted 
acr.  Here  was  the  marble  basin  of  the  fountain  half  filled  with 
rubbish,  as  though  it  had  been  converted  into  a  receptacle  fof 
trash,  and  over  the  whole  front  of  the  house,  the  dark  glossy 
leaves  of  the  creeping  ivy  clung  in  thick  masses.  She  looked 
around  on  all  sides,  but  only  ruin  and  neglect  confronted  her. 
She  remembered  the  last  time  she  came  here,  and  recalled  the 
beautiful  Sunday  morning  when  she  saw  her  guardian  standing 
by  the  fountain,  feeding  his  pigeons.  Ah,  how  sadly  changed  I 
She  burst  into  tears,  and  sat  down  on  the  steps.  Charon  ran 
about  the  yard  for  some  time  ;  then  came  back,  looked  up  at  the 
sombre  house,  howled,  and  laid  down  at  her  feet.  Where  was 
the  old  master  ?  Wandering  among  eastern  pagodas,  while  his 
home  became  a  retreat  for  owls. 

"  He  has  forgotten  us,  Charon  I  He  has  forgotten  his  two 
best  friends — you  and  I — who  love  him  so  well  !  Oh,  Charon, 
he  has  forgotten  us  !"  cried  she,  almost  despairingly.  Charon 
gave  a  melancholy  groan  of  assent,  and  nestled  closer  to  her. 
Five  years  had  gone  since  he  left  his  native  land,  and  for  once 
her  faith  was  faint  and  wavering.  But  after  some  moments  she 
looked  up  at  the  calm  sky  arching  above  her,  and  wiping  away 
her  tears,  added,  resignedly  : 

"  But  he  will  come  1  God  will  bring  him  home  when  he  seei 
fit  1  1  can  wait  1  I  can  wait  1" 

Charon's  great,  gleaming  black  eyes  met  hers  wistfully  ;  he 
•seemed  dubious  of  his  master's  return.  Beulafc  rcise,  and  h( 
.-keyed  the  signal. 

"  Come,  Charon,  it  is  getting  late  ;  but  we  will  come  bach 
jomc  day,  and  live  here." 

It  was  dusk  when  she  entered  the  library,  and  found  Mra, 
Anburj  Discussing  the  political  questions  of  the  day  with  her  hn» 


488  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

band.  She  had  just  finished  reading  aloud,  one  of  Reginald'i 
Congressional  speeches,  and  advocated  it  warmly,  while  tha 
doctor  reprobated  some  portion  of  his  course. 

"  You  have  had  a  long  walk,"  said  Mrs.  Asbury,  looking  up 
as  the  orphan  entered. 

"  And  look,  for  the  universe,  as  if  you  had  been  ghost-seeing,11 
tried  the  doctor,  wiping  his  spectacles. 

"  I  would  rather  meet  an  army  of  ghosts  than  see  what  I  have 
seen  1"  answered  Beulah. 

"  Good  heavens  !  In  the  name  of  wonder,  what  have  yon 
seen,  child  ?  A  rattle-snake,  or  a  screech-owl  ?" 

He  put  his  broad  palms  on  his  knees,  and  looked  mockingly 
rurious  and  startled. 

"  I  have  been  out  to  see  the  old  place,  sir  ;  found  the  gate 
broken  down,  the  front  yard  full  of  cows,  and  everything  going 
to  destruction,  except  the  trees  and  hedges.  Sir,  it  makes  me 
feel  very  sad.  I  can't  bear  to  have  things  go  on  this  way  any 
longer.  It  must  be  rectified." 

11  Bless  my  soul,  that  is  easier  said  than  done  !  The  place  is  a 
perfect  owl-roost,  there  is  no  denying  that ;  but  it  is  no  business 
of  ours.  If  Farley,  or  his  agent,  suffers  the  property  to  go  to 
ru'n,  it  is  his  loss." 

"  But  I  love  the  place.  I  want  to  save  it.  "Won't  you  buy  it, 
Dr.  Asbury  ?" 

"  Won't  I  buy  it?  Why,  what  on  earth  do  you  suppose  I 
should  do  with  it  ?  I  don't  want  to  live  in  it ;  and  as  for  any 
more  investments  in  real  estate,  why,  just  excuse  me,  if  you 
please  !  Insurance  and  repairs  eat  up  all  the  profits,  and  1  anj 
plagued  to  death  with  petitions  in  the  bargain." 

"  Then,  I  must  buy  it  myself !"  said  Beulah,  resolutely. 

'•'  It  the  name  of  common  sense,  what  will  you  do  with  it  ?" 

"  1  don't  know  yet ;  keep  it,  I  suppose,  until  he  comes  home 
again.  How  much  do  you  suppose  the  Parleys  ask  for  it  1" 

"I  really  cannot  conjecture.  But,  child,  you  must  not  think 
of  this.  I  will  see  the  agent  about  it,  and  perhaps  I  may  pip 


BE  Hi,  AH.  489 

thase  it  to  oblige  you  I  will  not  bear  of  your  buying  it,  Guj 
certainly  cannot  contemplate  heathenating  much  longer.  IWe 
is  that  eternal  door-bell  again  !  Somebody  that  believes  I  am 
constructed  of  wire  and  gutta-percha,  I  dare  say." 

He  leaned  back,  and  watched  the  door  very  uneasily.  A  sefr- 
Taut  looked  in. 

•''  Mr.  Leonard,  to  sec  Miss  Beulah." 

'•  Thank  heaven  it  is  nobody  to  see  me  1"  The  doctor  settled 
bimsilf  comfortably,  and  laughed  at  the  perturbed  expression  of 
Beulah's  countenance. 

"  Ask  him  to  excuse  me  this  evening,"  said  she,  without  rising. 

"  Nay,  my  dear  ;  he  was  here  this  afternoon,  and  you  had 

gone  to  walk.     It  would  be  rude  not  to  see  him.     Go  into  the 

parlor  ;  do,  my  dear  ;  perhaps  he  will  not  detain  you  long," 

remonstrated  Mrs.  Asbury. 

Beulah  said  nothing  ;  she  set  her  lips  firmly,  rose,  and  went  to 
toe  parlor. 

"  I  will  wager  my  head  he  won't  stay  fifteen  minutes,  after  he 
gets  a  glimpse  of  her  face.  Hugh  ought  to  have  sense  enough  to 
Bee  that  she  does  not  fancy  him,"  said  the  doctor,  laughing. 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  see  the  man  she  would  fancy," 
answered  his  wife,  knitting  away  busily  on  a  parse  for  some 
gewiiig  society. 

"  Oh,  Alice  !  do  you  wonder  she  does  not  like  Hugh  Leonard  ? 
He  is  a  '  catch,'  as  far  as  position,  and  money,  and  a  certain  sort 
jf  talent,  and  is  very  clever,  and  upright,  I  know  ;  but  he  doea 
not  suit  Beulah.  If  she  would  not  marry  Reginald,  of  course  she 
won't  marry  IJugh." 

*'  Jangle,"  went  the  door-bell  once  more,  and  this  time  MH 
Doctor  was  forced  to  leave  his  chair  and  slippers. 

The  winter  had  been  very  gay,  and  without  doubt,  the  belle  o! 
she  season  was  Claudia  Grayson.  She  had  grown  up  a  brilliant, 
imperious  beauty.  .Petted  most  injudiciously  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gray 
gon,  the  best  elements,  of  her  character,  instead  of  being  fostered 
and  developed,  were  smothered  beneath  vanity  and  arrogance^  and 
21* 


IJJO  B  K  U  L  A  H  . 

soon  selfishness  became  the  dominant  characteristic.  To  tU«t 
whom  she  considered  her  inferiors,  she  was  supercilious  and  over- 
tearing  ;  while,  even  in  her  adopted  home,  she  tyrannized  over 
both  servants  and  parents.  Flattered  and  sought  after  ir 
lociety,  she  was  never  happy,  unless  the  centre  of  a  gay  circle* 
5re  long,  she  discovered  the  heartlessucss  of  her  admirers  j 
.earned  the  malice  and  envy  of  the  very  people  she  visited  most 
intimately  ;  and  once  acquainted  with  their  natures  and  habits, 
ghe  found  her  greatest  amusement  in  ridiculing  those,  who  die1! 
precisely  the  same  thing  the  moment  she  left  them.  Beulah  had 
never  been  able  to  conquer  her  feelings  sufficiently  to  enter  Mrs. 
Grayson's  house  ;  but  she  had  met  Claudia  several  times.  The 
latter,  when  accompanied  by  any  of  her  fashionable  acquaint- 
ances, always  shrank  from  recognizing  her  ;  and  finally,  thinking 
any  allusion  to  former  years,  and  the  Asylum,  a  personal  insult, 
ehe  passed  her,  without  even  a  bow.  The  first  time  this  oc- 
curred, Beulah  was  deeply  wounded  ;  she  had  loved  Claudia  very 
warmly,  and  her  superciliousness  was  hard  to  bear.  But  the 
slight  was  repeated  several  times,  and  she  learned  to  pity  her 
weakness  most  sir  merely. 

"  Ah  1"  thougl  '5  she,  "  how  much  better  it  was  that  Lilly 
should  die,  than  ve  to  grow  up  a  heartless  flirt,  like  Claudy  1 
Much  better,  littl ,  sister  !  Much  better  I" 

It  was  the  m«i.  ling  after  her  walk  to  the  old  home  of  her 
guardian,  that  ]'r  Asbury  threw  down  the  paper  on  the  break- 
fast-table, with  <in  jxclamation  of  horror. 

*'  What  is  the  u  itter,  George?"  cried  his  wife,  while  Beulah 
grew  deadly  pale,  and  clutched  the  paper ;  her  mind,  lik« 
"  Hinda's,"— 

"St  t  singling  one  from  all  mankind." 

"  Matter  !  why  j  oor  Grayson  has  committed  suicide — shot 
himself  last  night,  y  or  wretch  1  lie  has  been  speculating  too 
freely,  and  lost  everj  cent ;  and,  worse  than  that,  used  money  t</ 
do  it  that  was  not  hi &.  He  made  desperate  throws  and  lost  all; 


B  S  V  L  A  H  .  4:9  j 

fcj<J  the  end  of  it  was,  that  when  his  operations  were  discovered, 
he  shot  himself,  leaving  his  family  utterly  destitute.  1  heard 
yesterday  that  they  would  not  have  a  cent ;  but  never  dreamed 
of  his  being  so  weak  as  to  kill  himself.  Miserable  mistake  I" 

"  What  will  become  of  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Claudia  ?"  asked 
Benlah,  sorrowfully. 

"  I  don't  know,  really.  Mrs.  Grayson  has  a  brother  living 
lomewhere  up  the  country  ;  I  suppose  he  will  offer  them  a  homer 
such  as  he  has.  I  pity  her ;  she  is  a  weak  creature — weak,  mind 
and  body ;  and  this  reverse  will  come  very  near  killing  her." 

For  some  days  nothing  was  discussed  but  the  "Grayson 
tragedy  "  It  was  well  the  unhappy  man  could  not  listen  to  the 
fierce  maledictions  of  disappointed  creditors  and  the  slanders 
which  were  now  heaped  upon  his  name.  Whatever  his  motives 
might  have  been,  the  world  called  his  offences  by  the  darkest 
names,  and  angry  creditors  vowed  every  knife,  fork  and  spiA)n 
should  come  under  the  hammer.  The  elegant  house  was  sold — 
the  furniture  with  it ;  and  Mrs.  Grayson  and  Claudia  removed 
temporarily  to  a  boarding-house.  Not  one  of  their  fashionable 
intimates  approached  them — no,  not  one.  When  Claudia  went 
one  day  to  her  mantuamaker,  to  have  her  mourning  fitted,  she 
met  a  couple  of  ladies  who  had  formerly  been  constant  visitors 
at  the  house,  and  regular  attendants  at  her  parties.  Unsuspect- 
ingly, sbo  hastened  to  meet  them,  but,  to  her  astonishment, 
instead  of  greeting  her,  in  their  usual  fawning  manner,  they 
received  her  with  a  very  cold  bow,  just  touched  the  tips  cf  her 
fingers,  and  gathering  up  their  robes,  swept  majestically  from  tho 
room.  Rage  and  mortification  forced  the  tears  into  her  eyes. 

Mn»  Asbury  had  never  admired  Mrs.  Grayson's  character  ; 
the  visited  her  formally  about  twice  a  year  ;  but  now,  in  thfr 
Misfortune,  she  alone  called  to  see  her.  When  Claudia  returned 
from  the  mantuainaker's,  she  found  Mrs.  Asbury  with  her  mother, 
and  received  from  her  hand  a  kind,  friendly  note  from  the  girl 
ghe  had  so  grossly  insulted.  Beulah  was  no  flatterer;  she  wrota 
landidlj  and  plainly;  said  she  would  have  called  at  once,  had 


492  BEULAH. 

the  supposed  her  company  would  be  acceptable.  She 
gladly  come  and  see  Claudia  whenever  she  desired  to  ste  her, 
and  hoped  that  the  memory  of  other  years  would  teach  her  the 
sincerity  of  her  friendship.  Claudia  wept  bitterly,  as  she  read  it, 
and  vainly  regretted  the  superciliousness  tvhich  had  alienated 
one  she  knew  to  be  noble  and  trustworthy.  She  was  naturaDy 
an  impulsive  creature,  and  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  dashed 
off  an  answer,  all  blurred  with  tears,  begging  Beulah  to  overlook 
her  "  foolishness,"  and  come  to  see  her. 

Accordingly,  after  school,  Beulah  went  to  the  house  where 
they  were  boarding.  Claudia  met  her  rather  awkwardly,  but 
Beulah  kissed  her  as  if  nothing  had  ever  occurred  to  mar  their 
intercourse  ;  and  after  some  desultory  conversation,  asked  hci 
what  they  expected  to  do. 

"  Heaven  only  knows  1  starve,  I  suppose."  She  spoke  gloom- 
ily, and  folded  her  soft  white  hands  over  each  other,  as  if  the 
idea  of  work  was  something  altogether  foreign  to  her  mind. 

"  But,  Claudia,  I  reckon  you  hardly  expect  to  starve,"  an- 
swered Deulah,  who  could  not  forbear  smiling. 

"Dear  knows  what  is  to  become  of  us — I  am  sure  I  don't  I 
Mamma  has  a  brother  living  in  some  out-of-the-way  place  up  the 
country.     But  he  does  not  like  me — thinks  some  of  his  own 
children   ought  to  have  been  adopted  in  my  place.     Heaven 
knows  I  have  made  nothing  by  the  operation,  but  a  great  disap- 
pointment, he  need  not  be  uneasy  about  the  amount  I  am  to  get. 
But  you  see  they  don't  want  me,  having  an  old  spite  at  me,  and 
mamma  dislikes  to  ask  them  to  take  me  ;  besides,  I  would  almost 
as  soon  be  buried  at  once  as  go  to  that  farm,  or  plantation,  or 
whaterer  it  is.     They  have  written  to  mamma  to  come,  and  she 
joes  not  know  what  to  do." 
"  You  are  a  good  musician,  are  you  not  ?" 
"No,  not  particularly  ;  I  never  could  endure  to  practise." 
"  Don't  you  draw  and  paint  finely — I  have  heard  that  you  did  ?" 
"Yes,  but  what  good  will  it  do  me  now,  I  should  like  tc 
know  ?"    She  twirled  her  little  plump,  jewelled  fingers  indolently 


BEULAH.  493 

''  It  might  do  yon  a  great  deal  of  good,  if  yon  chose.  Yo* 
might  support  yourself  by  giving  lessons,"  said  Bculah,  decisively. 

She  drew  up  her  shoulders,  frowned  and  pouted  withon! 
n;akiug  any  answer. 

11  Olaudy,  you  do  not  wish  to  be  dependent  on  a  man  who  die 
£kes  you  ?" 

"  Not  If  I  can  help  myself  1" 

11  And  you  certainly  do  not  wish  to  be  the  means  of  prevent 
ing  Mrs  Grayson  from  having  a  comfortable  homo  with  hef 
brother  ?* 

Claudia  burst  into  tears  ;  she  did  not  love  her  mother,  did  not 
even  respect  her,  she  was  so  very  weak  and  childish  ;  yet  th6 
young  orphan  felt  very  desolate,  and  knew  not  what  to  do. 
Beulah  took  her  hand,  and  said  kindly : 

"  If  you  are  willing  to  help  yourself,  dear  Claudy,  I  will  gladly 
do  all  I  can  to  assist  you.  I  think  I  can  secure  you  a  situation 
as  teacher  of  drawing,  and,  until  you  can  make  something  at  it, 
1  will  pay  your  board  ;  and  you  shall  stay  with  me,  if  you  like. 
You  can  think  about  it  and  let  me  know  as  soon  as  you  decide." 

Claudia  thanked  her  cordially,  and  returning  home,  Beulah 
immediately  imparted  the  plan  to  her  friends.  They  thought  it 
would  scarcely  succeed,  Claudia  had  been  so  petted  and  spoiled, 
Beulah  sat  gazing  into  the  fire  for  awhile  ;  then,  looking  at  the 
doctor,  said  abruptly  : 

"  There  is  that  Graham  money,  sir,  doing  nobody  any  good." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  have  been  telling  you  for  the  last  sis 
years.  I  have  invested  it  carefully,  until  it  has  almost  doubled 
Itself." 

"It  would  make  them  very  comfortable,"  continued  she 
ii  ought  fully. 

"  Make  them  very  comfortable  I"  repeated  the  doctor, 
throwing  his  cigar  into  the  grate,  and  turning  suddenly  toward 
her. 

"  ?es,  Claudia  and  Mrs.  Grnyson  " 

11  Beulah  Ben  ton  1    are  you  going  insane,  I  should  liko  ta 


494  BEULAH 

know  ?  Eere  yon  arc,  working  bard  every  day  of  your  lif^ 
and  do  you  suppose  I  shall  suffer  you  to  give  that  legacy  (nearly 
nine  thousand  dollars!)  to  support  two  broken-down  fashionables 
in  idleness  ?  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  piece  of  business  since 
fie  world  began  ?  I  will  not  consent  to  it  1  I  tell  you  now, 
ihe  money  shall  not  leave  my  hands  for  any  such  purpose." 

4  I  don't  want  it  myself.  I  never  shall  touch  a  dollar  of  it  fcf 
ttf  own  use,"  said  she,  resolutely. 

"  All  very  fine  now.  But  wait  till  yon  get  superannuated,  of 
Buch  a  cripple  with  rheumatism  that  you  can't  hobble  to  that 
ichoolhouse,  which  you  seem  to  love  better  than  your  own  soul. 
Wait  till  then,  I  say,  and  sec  whether  some  of  this  money  will 
not  be  very  acceptable." 

"  That  time  will  never  come,  sir,  never  I"  answered  Beulah, 
laughing. 

"  Beulah  Bentoii,  you  are  a  simpleton  !"  said  he,  looking 
affectionately  at  her  from  beneath  his  shaggy  brows. 

"  I  want  that  money,  sir." 

"  You  shall  not  have  one  cent  -:>f  it.  The  idea  of  your  playing 
Ijady  Bountiful  to  the  Graysons  I  Pshaw  !  not  a  picayune  shall 
you  have." 

"  Oh,  .sir,  it  would  make  mo  so  very  happy  to  aid  them. 
You  cannot  conceive  how  much  pleasure  it  would  afford  me." 

"  Look  here,  child,  all  that  sort  of  angelic  disinterestedness 
sounds  very  well  done  up  in  a  novel,  but  the  reality  is  quite 
another  matter.  Mrs.  Grayson  treated  you  like  a  brute  ;  and  it 
is  not  to  be  expected  that  you  will  have  any  extraordinary 
degree  of  affection  for  her.  Human  nature  is  spiteful  and  unfor- 
giving ;  and  as  for  your  piling  coals  of  fire  on  her  head  to  the 
imount  of  nine  thousand  dollars,  that  is  being  entirely  too 


'I  want  to  make  Mrs.  Grayson  amends,  sir.  OPCC,  wlieu  1 
was  maddened  by  sorrow  and  pain,  I  said  something  which  I 
always  repented  bitterly."  As  Beulah  spoke,  a  cloud  swept 
Across  her  face. 


i  E  r  L  A  H  .  495 

u  What  was  it,  child  ?  what  did  you  say  V 

"  I  cursed  her  I  besought  God  to  punish  her  severely  for  her 
•akiuduess  to  me.  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  saying  ;  but  even 
then  it  shocked  me,  and  I  prayed  God  to  forgive  my  passion 
[  shudder  when  I  remember  it.  I  have  forgiven  her  heartiest 
ness  long  ago  ;  and  now,  sir,  I  want  you  to  give  me  that  money 
If  it  is  mine  at  all,  it  is  mine  to  employ  as  I  choose." 

"  Cornelia  did  not  leave  the  legacy  to  the  Graysons." 

"  Were  she  living,  she  would  commend  the  use  I  am  .about 
to  make  of  it.  Will  you  give  me  five  thousand  dollars  of  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  Eeulah,  you  are  a  queer  compound  !  a  strange  being  P 

"  Will  you  give  me  five  thousand  dollars  of  that  money 
to-morrow  ?"  persisted  Beulah,  looking  steadily  at  him. 

"  Yes,  child,  if  you  will  have  it  so."  Uis  voice  trembled,  and 
he  looked  at  the  orphan  with  moist  eyes. 

Mrs.  Asbury  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation,  but  her 
earnest  face  attested  her  interest.  Passing  her  arm  around 
Beulah 's  waist,  she  hastily  kissed  her  brow,  and  only  said  : 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear,  noble  Beulah  1" 

"  I  do  not  see  that  I  am  at  all  magnanimous  in  giving  away 
other  people's  money.  If  I  had  earned  it  by  hard  labor,  and 
then  given  it  to  Claudy,  there  would  have  been  some  more  show 
of  generosity.  Here  come  Georgia  and  her  husband  ;  you  do 
iict  need  me  to  read  this  evening,  and  I  have  work  to  do."  She 
extricated  herself  from  Mrs.  Asbury's  clasping  arm  and  retired 
to  her  own  room.  The  following  day,  Claudia  came  to  say  that, 
as  she  knew  not  what  else  to  do,  she  would  gladly  accept  the 
position  mentioned  as  teacher  of  drawing  and  painting.  Mrs. 
Gray  son's  brother  had  come  to  take  her  home,  but  she  waa 
unwilling  to  be  separated  from  Claudia.  Boulah  no  longer 
atsitatcd,  and  the  sum  of  five  thousand  dollars  seemed  to  poof 
Claudia  a  fortune  indeed.  She  could  not  understand  how  the  girl, 
whom  she  and  her  mother  had  insulted,  could  possibly  have  the 
means  of  making  them  so  comparatively  comfortable.  Beulah 
briefly  explained  the  circumstances  which  had  enabled  her  to 


496  B  E  C  L  A  H  . 

assist  them.  The  bulk  of  the  money  remained  in  Dr.  Asbtiry'- 
nands,  and  Claudia  was  to  apply  to  him  whenever  she  needed  it 
She  and  her  mamma  found  a  cheaper  boarding-house,  and 
Claudia's  diuies  began  at  once.  Mrs.  Grayson  was  overwhelmed 
with  shame  when  the  particulars  were  made  known  to  her,  f  nd 
ieajs  of  bitter  mortification  could  riot  obliterate  the  memory  of 
the  hour  \\hen  she  cruelly  denied  the  prayer  of  the  poor  orphan 
to  whom  she  now  owed  the  shelter  above  her  head.  Beulah  did 
not  see  her  for  many  weeks  subsequent  ;  she  knew  how  painful 
such  a  meeting  would  be  to  the  humbled  woman,  and  while  she 
constantly  cheered  and  encouraged  Claudia  in  her  work,  she 
studiously  avoided  Mrs.  Grayson's  presence. 

Thus  the  winter  passed  ;  and  once  more  the  glories  of  & 
southern  spring  were  scattered  over  the  land.  To  the  Asburys 
Beulah  was  warmly  attached,  and  her  residence  with  them  was 
as  pleasant  as  any  home  could  possibly  have  been,  which  was 
not  her  own.  They  were  all  that  friends  could  be  to  an  orphan; 
still,  she  regretted  her  little  cottage,  and  missed  the  home-feeling 
she  had  prized  so  highly.  True,  she  had  constant  access  to  the 
greenhouse,  and  was  rarely  without  her  bouquet  of  choice 
flowers  ;  but  these  could  not  compensate  her  for  the  loss  of  her 
own  little  garden.  She  struggled  bravely  with  discontent;  tried 
to  look  only  ou  the  sunshine  in  her  path,  and  to  be  always  cheer- 
ful. In  this  she  partially  succeeded  ;  no  matter  how  lonely  and 
sad  she  felt,  she  hid  it  carefully,  and  the  evenings  in  the  library 
were  never  marred  by  words  of  repining  or  looks  of  sorrow. 
To  the  close  observer,  there  were  traces  of  grief  in  her  counte- 
nance ;  and  sometimes  when  she  sat  sewing  while  M»'s.  Asbury 
read  aloud,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  her  thoughts  had  wandered 
tar  from  that  little  room.  Time  had  changed  her  singularly  since 
the  old  Asylum  days.  She  was  now  a  finely-formed,  reinaikably 
graceful  woman,  with  a  complexion  of  dazzling  transparency 
She  was  always  pale,  but  the  blue  veins  might  be  traced  any 
where  on  her  brow  and  temples  ;  and  the  dark,  grey  eyes,  witb 
Iheir  long,  jetty,  curling  lashes,  possessed  an  indescribable 


B  E  U  L  A  U  .  491 

charm,  even  for  strangers.  She  had  been  an  ugly  child,  but 
certainly  she  was  a  noble-looking,  if  not  handsome  woman.  To 
all  but  the  family  with  whom  she  resided,  she  was  rather 
reserved;  and  while  the  world  admired  and  eulogized  her  talents 
as  a  writer,  she  felt  that,  except  Eugene,  she  had  no  friends 
beyond  the  threshold  of  the  house  she  lived  in.  As  weeks  and 
months  elapsed,  and  no  news  of  her  wandering  guardian  came, 
her  hope  began  to  pale.  For  weary  years  it  had  burned  brightly, 
but  constant  disappointment  was  pressing  heavily  on  her  heart, 
and  crushing  out  the  holy  spark.  The  heartstrings  will  bear 
*ude  shocks  and  sudden  rough-handling,  but  the  gradual  tight- 
ening, the  unremitted  tension  of  long,  tediously-rolling  years, 
will  in  time  accomplish  what  fierce  assaults  cannot.  Continually 
fihe  prayed  for  his  return,  but,  despite  her  efforts,  her  faith  grew 
fainter  as  each  month  crept  by,  uud  her  smile  became  more 
constrained  and  joyless.  She  never  spoke  of  her  anxiety,  never 
alluded  to  him,  but  pressed  her  hands  over  her  aching  heart  and 
did  her  work  silently — nay,  cheerfully. 


CHAPTER    XL 

I"HE  day  was  dull,  misty  and  gusty.  All  the  morning  there 
uad  been  a  driving  southeasterly  rain  ;  but  toward  noon,  there 
was  a  lull.  The  afternoon  was  heavy  and  threatening,  while 
armies  of  dense  clouds  drifted  before  the  wind.  Dr.  Asbury  had 
nut  yet  returned  from  his  round  of  evening  visits  ;  Mrs.  Asburj 
']ad  gone  to  the  Asylum  to  see  a  sick  child,  and  Georgia  was 
dining  with  her  husband's  mother.  Beulah  came  home  from 
echocl  more  than  usually  fatigued  ;  one  of  the  assistant  teacherg 
was  indisposed,  and  she  had  done  double  work  to  relieve  her 
She  sat  before  her  desk,  writing  industriously  on  an  articln  Rht 


iUS  B  E  U  L  A  II 

had  promised  to  complete  before  the  eud  of  the  week.  Her  bead 
ached  ;  the  lines  grew  dim,  and  she  laid  aside  her  manuscript 
and  leaned  her  face  on  her  palms.  The  beautiful  lashes  lay 
against  her  brow,  for  the  eyes  were  raised  to  the  portrait  above 
her  desk,  and  she  gazed  up  at  the  faultless  features  with  an  ex- 
pression of  sad  hopelessness.  Years  had  not  filled  the  void  ia 
her  heart  with  other  treasures.  At  this  hour  it  ached  with  its 
own  desolation,  and  extending  her  arms  imploringly  toward  the 
picture,  she  exclaimed  sorrowfully  : 

"  0  my  God,  how  iong  must  I  wait  ?  Oh,  how  long  !" 
She  opened  the  desk,  and  taking  out  a  key,  left  her  room,  and 
slowly  ascended  to  the  third  story.  Charon  crept  up  the 
steps  after  her  She  unlocked  the  apartment  which  Mrs. 
Asbury  had  given  into  her  charge  some  time  before,  and  raising 
one  of  the  windows,  looped  back  the  heavy  blue  curtains  which 
gave  a  sombre  hue  to  all  within.  From  this  elevated  position 
she  could  see  the  stormy,  sullen  waters  of  the  bay  breaking 
against  the  wharves,  and  hear  their  hoarse  muttering  as  they 
rocked  themselves  to  rest  after  the  scourging  of  the  tempest. 
Grey  clouds  hung  low,  and  scudded  northward  ;  everything 
looked  dull  and  gloomy.  She  turned  from  the  window  and 
glanced  around  the  room.  It  was  at  all  times  a  painful  pleasure 
to  come  here,  and  now,  particularly,  the  interior  impressed  her 
eadly.  Here  were  the  paintings  and  statues  she  had  long  been 
.BO  familiar  with,  and  here,  too,  the  melodeon  which  at  rare  inter- 
vals she  opened.  The  house  was  very  quief  ;  not  a  sound  came 
up  from  below  ;  she  raised  the  lid  of  the  instrument,  and  played 
a  plaintive  prelude.  Echoes,  seven  or  eight  years  old,  suddenly 
fell  on  her  ears  ;  she  had  not  heard  one  note  of  this  air  since  she 
left  Dr.  Ilartwell's  roof.  It  was  a  favorite  song  of  his  ;  a  Ger- 
man hymn  he  had  taught  her,  and  now  after  seven  years  she  sang 
St.  It  was  a  melancholy  air,  and  as  her  trembling  voice  rolled 
through  the  house,  she  seemed  to  live  the  old  days  over  again. 
But  the  words  died  away  on  her  lips  ;  she  had  over-estimated 
her  strength  ;  she  could  not  sing  it.  The  jaa.ble  images  around 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  499 

bn,  rtke  gliosts  of  the  past,  looked  mutely  down  at  her  griet 
She  could  not  weep  ;  her  eyes  were  dry,  aud  there  was  an  intot 
arable  weight  ou  her  heart.  Just  before  her  stood  the  Niobe, 
rig-id  and  woeful  ;  she  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  and  drooped 
her  face  on  the  melodeon.  Gloom  and  despair  crouched  al 
her  side,  their  gaunt  hands  tugging  at  the  anchor  of  hope,  llu 
wind  rose  and  howled  round  the  corners  of  the  house  ;  how  fierct 
it  might  be  on  trackless  seas,  driving  lonely  barks  down  to  ruin, 
and  strewing  the  main  with  ghastly  upturned  faces.  She  shud- 
dered and  groaned.  It  was  a  dark  hour  of  trial,  and  she 
struggled  desperately  with  the  phantoms  that  clustered  about 
her.  Then  there  came  other  sounds  :  Charon's  shrill,  frantic 
bark  and  whine  of  delight.  For  years  she  had  not  heard  that 
peculiar  bark,  and  started  up  in  wonder.  On  the  threshold  stood 
a  tall  form,  with  a  straw  hat  drawn  down  over  the  features,  but 
Charon's  paws  were  on  the  shoulders,  and  his  whine  of  delight 
ceased  not.  He  fell  down  at  his  master's  feet  and  caressed  them. 
Beulah  looked  an  instant,  and  sprang  into  the  doorway,  holding 
ont  her  arms,  with  a  wild,  joyful  cry  : 

"  Come  at  last  1  Oh,  thank  God  1  Come  at  last  1"  Her  face 
was  radiant,  her  eyes  burned,  her  glowing  lips  parted. 

Loaning  against  the  door,  with  his  arms  crossed  over  his  broad 
chest,  Dr.  Hartwell  stood,  silently  regarding  her.  She  camo 
close  to  him,  and  her  extended  arms  trembled,  still  he  did  not 
move,  did  not  speak. 

"  Oh,  I  knew  yoq.  would  come,;  and,  thank  God,  now  you  are 
nere.  Conic  home  at  last  1" 

She  looked  up  at  him  so  eagerly  ;  but  he  said  nothing.  3he 
stood  an  instant  irresolute,  then  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
and  laid  her  head  on  his  bosom,  clinging  closely  to  him.  Hi 
did  not  return  the  embrace,  but  looked  down  at  the  beaming 
face,  aud  sighed  ;  then  he  put  his  hand  softly  on  her  head,  and 
smoothed  the  rippling  hair.  A  brilliant  smile  broke  over  her 
features,  as  she  felt  the  remembered  touch  of  his  fingers  on  hel 
forehead,  and  she  repeated  in  the  low  tones  of  deep  gladness 


500  B  E II L  A  H  . 

"  I  knew  you  would  come ;  oh,  sir,  I  knew  yen  wonld  com* 
back  to  me  !" 

"  How  did  you  know  it,  child  ?"  he  said,  for  the  first  time. 

Her  heart  leaped,  wildly  at  the  sound  of  the  loved  voice  shi 
bad  so  longed  to  hear,  and  she  answered,  tremblingly: 

''  Because  for  weary  years  I  have  prayed  for  your  return.  Oh, 
Jiily  God  knows  how  fervently  I  prayed  ;  and  .he  has  heard  me.* 

Sli3  felt  his  strong  frame  quiver ;  he  folded  his  arms  about  her, 
clasped  her  to  his  heart  with  a  force  that  almost  suffocated  her, 
and  bending  his  head,  kissed  her  passionately.  Suddenly  his 
arms  relaxed  their  clasp  ;  holding  her  off,  he  looked  at  her 
keenly,  and  said  : 

''Beulah  Benton,  do  you  belong  to  the  tyrant  Ambition,  or  do 
you  belong  to  that  tyrant,  Guy  Hartwell  ?  Quick,  child,  decide." 

"  I  have  decided,"  said  she.  Her  cheeks  burned  ;  her  lashes 
drooped. 

"  Well  !» 

"  Well,  if  I  am  to  have  a  tyrant,  I  believe  I  prefer  belonging 
to  you  ?» 

He  frowned.     She  smiled  and  looked  up  at  him. 

"  Beulah,  I  don't  want  a  grateful  wife.  Do  yon  understand 
me?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Just  then  his  eyes  rested  on  the  portrait  of  Creola,  which 
hung  opposite.  He  drew  back  a  step,  and  she  saw  the  blood 
leave  his  lips,  as  he  gazed  upon  it.  Lifting  his  hand,  he  said 
sternly: 

"  Ah,  what  pale  spectres  that  face  calls  np  from  the  grim, 
grey  ruins  of  memory!  Doubtless  you  know  my  miserable  his- 
tory. I  married  her,  thinking  I  had  won  her  love.  She  sooo 
aiuk'ceived  me.  We  separated.  I  once  asked  you  to  bo  n) 
wife,  and  you  told  me  you  would  rather  die.  Child,  years  havo 
not  dealt  lightly  with  me  since  then.  I  am  no  longer  a  young 
man.  Look  here."  He  threw  off  his  hat,  and  passing  his  fin- 
gers through  his  curling  hair,  she  saw,  here  and  there,  streaks  oJ 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  50  J 

«l?er.  He  watched  her  as  she  noted  it.  She  saw,  too,  how 
hagjrard  he  looked,  now  that  the  light  fell  full  on  his  pale  face. 
The  splendid,  dark  eyes  were  unaltered,  and  as  they  looked 
down  into  hers,  tears  gathered  on  her  lashes,  her  lips  trembled, 
aim  throwing  her  arms  again  round  his  neck,  she  laid  her  fact 
••30  his  shoulder. 

"Beulah,  do  you  cling  to  me  because  you  love  me?  or  because 
you  pity  me  ?  or  because  you  are  grateful  to  me  for  past  love 
and  kindness?  Answer  me,  Beulah." 

"Because  you  are  my  all." 

"  How  long  have  I  been  your  all  ?" 

"  Oh,  longer  than  I  knew  myself!"  was  the  evasive  reply. 

He  tried  to  look  at  her,  but  she  pressed  her  face  close  to  hi* 
shoulder,  and  would  not  suffer  it. 

"Beulah?" 

"  Sir." 

"  Oh,  don't  'sir'  me,  childl  I  want  to  know  the  truth,  and 
you  will  not  satisfy  me." 

"I  have  told  you  the  truth." 

"  Have  you  learned  that  fame  is  an  icy  shadow  ?  that  grati- 
fied ambition  cannot  make  you  happy  ?  Do  you  love  me  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Better  than  teaching  school,  and  writing  learned  articles  I" 

"  Rather  better,  I  believe,  sir." 

"Beulah?" 
'  "  Well,  sir." 

"  You  have  changed  in  many  things,  since  we  parted,  nearly 
nix  years  ago  ?" 

"Yes,  I  thank  God,  I  am  changed.  My  infidelity  was  a 
source  of  many  sorrows;  but  the  clouds  have  passed  from  my 
AiinJ;  I  have  found  the  truth  in  holy  writ."  Now  she  raised 
her  head,  and  looked  at  him  very  earnestly. 

"  Child,  does  your  faith  make  you  happy  ?" 

"Yes,  the  universe  could  not  purchase  it,"  she  answered 
•oleumly. 


002  BEULAH. 

There  was  a  brief  silence.     He  put  both  hands  on  her  sliDn 
dera,  and  stooping  down,  kissed  her  brow. 

"  And  you  prayed  for  nie,  Beulah  ?" 

"Yes,  evening  and  morning.  Prayed  tltat  you  might  b« 
ihielded  from  all  dangers,  and  brought  safely  home.  And  there 
was  one  other  thing,  which  I  prayed  for  not  less  fervently  thai 
for  your  return  :  that  God  would  melt  your  hard,  bitter  heart, 
and  give  you  a  knowledge  of  the  truth  of  the  Christian  religion. 
Oh,  sir,  I  thought  sometimes  that  possibly  you  might  die  in  a 
far-off  land,  and  then  I  should  see  you  no  more,  in  time  or  eter- 
nity! and  oh,  the  thought  nearly  drove  me  wild!  Aly  guardian, 
my  all,  let  me  not  have  prayed  in  vain."  She  clasped  his  Land 
in  hers,  and  looked  up  pleadingly  into  the  loved  face;  and,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  saw  tears  glistening  in  the  burning 
eyes.  Ee  eaid  nothing,  however;  took  her  face  in  his  hands, 
and  sca'nued  it  earnestly,  as  if  reading  all  that  had  passed  during 
his  long  absence.  Presently  he  asked: 

"  So  you  would  not  marry  Lindsay,  and  go  to  Congress  Why 
not  r 

"  Who  told  you  anything  about  him  ?" 

"  No  matter.     Why  did  not  you  marry  him  V 

"  Because  I  did  not  love  him." 

"  He  is  a  noble  hearted,  generous  man." 

"  Yes,  very;  I  do  not  know  his  superior." 

"  What  ?" 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,"  said  she,  firmly. 

He  smiled,  one  of  his  genial,  irresistible  smiles;  and  she  smiled 
also,  despite  herself.  "  Give  me  your  hand,  Beulah  ?" 

She  did  so  very  quietly. 

"  There— is  it  mine  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  you  want  it." 

"  And  may  I  claim  it  as  soon  as  I  choose  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

She  had  never  seen  him  look  as  he  did  then.  His  face  kior 
died,  as  if  in  a  broad  flash  of  light;  the  eyes  dazzled  her,  anf 


BBUL.4.H.  503 

*he  turned  her  face  away,  as  he  drew  her  once  more  to  his 
bosom,  and  exclaimed : 

"  At  last,  then,  after  years  of  sorrow,  and  pain,  and  bitter- 
acss,  I  shall  he  happy  in  my  own  home ;  shall  have  a  wife,  f 
companion,  who  loves  me  for  myself  alone.  Ah,  Beulah,  mj 
lid,  I  will  make  you  happy!" 

The  rain  fell  heavily,  and  it  grew  dark,  for  the  night  cam* 
rapidly  down.  There  was  a  fnrious  ringing  of  the  library  bell, 
the  doctor  had  come  home,  and,  as  usual,  wanted  half  a  dozen 
things  at  once. 

"  Have  you  seen  Dr.  Asbury  ?" 

"No.  I  came  directly  to  the  house;  saw  no  one  as  I  entered; 
aid  hearing  the  melodcon,  followed  the  sound." 

"What  a  joyful  surprise  it  will  be  to  him!"  said  Beulah,  clos- 
ing the  window,  and  lock  ing  the  melodeon.  She  led  the  way 
down  the  steps,  followed  by  her  guardian  and  Charon. 

"  Suppose  you  wait  awhile  in  the  music-room  ?  It  adjoins  the 
library,  and  you  can  see  and  hear,  without  being  seen,"  suggested 
she,  with  her  hand  on  the  bolt  of  the  door.  He  assented,  and 
stood  near  the  threshold  which  connected  the  rooms,  while 
Beulah  went  into  the  library.  The  gas  burned  brightly,  and  the 
doctor  sat  leaning  far  back  in  his  arm-chair,  with  his  feet  on  an 
ottoman.  His  wife  stood  near  him,  stroking  the  grey  hair  from 
his  furrowed  brow. 

"  Alice,  I  wish,  dear,  you  would  get  me  an  iced  lemonade,  will 
you  r 

"  Let  me  make  it  for  you,"  said  Beulah,  coming  forward. 

'*  Not  you  !     At  your  peril,  you  touch  it.     You  are  over  food 
A  I  he  sour,  miss.     Alice  knows  exactly  how  to  suit  me." 
'  So  you  have  turned  homceopathist  ?  take  acids  to  "— — 

"  None  of  your  observations,  if  you  please.  Just  be  good 
eojagh  to  open  the  shutters,  will  you?  It  is  as  hot  in  this 
room,  as  if  the  equato§  ran  between  my  feet  and  the  wall. 
Charming  weather,  eh  ?  And  still  more  charming  prospect,  thai 
*  shall  have  to  go  out  into  it  again  before  bed-time.  One  of  m/ 


bO*  BEULAH. 

delectable  patients  has  taken  it  into  his  head  to  treat  his  wlft 
and  children  to  a  rare  show,  in  the  shape  of  a  fit  of  mauia-a- 
potu  ;  and  ten  to  one,  I  shall  have  to  play  spectator  all  night." 
He  yawned  as  he  spoke. 

*'•  You  have  an  arduous  time  indeed,"  began  Beulah  ;  but 
to  hastily  put  in  : 

"  Oh,  of  all  poor  devils,  we  pill-box  gentry  do  have  the 
hardest  times  !  I  am  sick  of  patients  :  sick  of  physic  ;  sick  of 
the  very  sound  of  my  own  name." 

"  If  my  guardian  were  only  here  to  relieve" 

"  Confound  your  guardian  !  Don't  mention  him  in  my  pre 
Bence.  He  is  a  simpleton.  He  is  what  the  '  Ettrick  Shepherd 
callo  a  '  Sum  ph.'  You  have  no  guardian,  I  can  tell  you  that. 
Before  this,  he  has  gone  through  all  the  transmigrations  of 
1  Indnr/  and  the  final  metempsychosis,  gave  him  to  the  world  a 
Celestial.  Yes,  child,  a  Celestial.  I  fancy  him  at  this  instant; 
with  two  long  plaits  of  hair  trailing  behind  him,  as,  with  all  the 
sublime  complacency  of  Celestials,  he  stalks  majestically  aloiijj, 
picking  tea  leaves.  Confound  your  guardian.  Mention  his 
name  to  me  again,  at  the  peril  of  having  your  board  raised." 

"George,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?"  asked  his  wife, 
smiling,  as  she  handed  him  the  lemonade  he  had  desired. 

"  This  prating  young  woman  is,  as  usual,  trying  to  discourse 
of — Alice,  this  is  just  right.  Thank  you,  my  dear."  He 
drained  the  glass,  and  handed  it  back.  Beulah  stood,  so  that 
the  light  shone  full  on  her  face.  He  looked  at  her  a  moment, 
aud  exclaimed : 

"  Come  here,  child.  What  ails  you  ?  Why,  bless  my  soul, 
Beulah,  what  is  the  matter  ?  I  never  saw  the  blood  in  your 
'ace  before  ;  and  your  great  solemn  eyes  seem  to  be  dancing  a 
jig  What  ails  you,  child  ?"  He  grasped  her  hands  eagerly. 

'  Nothing  ails  me  ;  I  am  well  " — — 

"  I  know  better  !  Has  Charon  gone  mad  aud  bit  you  ?  Oho! 
by  all  the  dead  gods  of  Greece,  Guy  has  coine  home.  Where  ia 
he  ?  Where  is  he  ?" 


B  E  TJ  L  A  H  .  505 

He  sprang  up,  nearly  knocking  his  wife  down,  and  looked 
around  the  room.  Dr.  Uartwell  emerged  from  the  music-room 
and  advanced  to  meet  him. 

"  Oh,  Guy  1  You  heathen  1  you  Philistine  I  you  prodigal !'-' 
He  bounded  over  a  chair,  and  locked  his  arms  round  the  taU 
form,  while  his  grey  head  dropped  on  his  friend's  shoulder 
Benlah  stole  out  quickly,  and  in  the  solitude  of  her  own  room, 
fell  on  her  knees,  acd  returned  thanks  to  the  God  who  hears  anu 
answers  prayer. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

IT  was  a  sparkling  August  morning — one  of  those  rare  days, 
when  all  nature  seems  jubilant.  The  waters  of  the  bay  glit- 
tered like  a  sheet  of  molten  silver ;  the  soft  southern  breeze 
sang  through  the  tree-tops,  and  the  cloudless  sky  wore  thai 
deep  shade  of  pure  blue,  which  is  nowhere  so  beautiful  as  in  our 
sunny  South.  Clad  in  a  dress  of  spotless  white,  with  her  luxu 
riant  hair  braided,  and  twined  with  white  flowers,  Beulah  stood 
beside  her  window,  looking  out  into  the  street  below.  Her 
hands  were  clasped  tightly  over  her  heart,  and  on  one  slender 
Quger  blazed  a  costly  diamond,  the  seal  of  her  betrothal.  She 
was  very  pale  5  now  and  then  her  lips  quivered,  and  her  lashea 
were  wet  with  tears.  Yet  this  was  her  marriage  day.  She  had 
just  risen  from  her  knees,  and  her  countenance  told  of  a 
troubled  heart.  She  loved  her  guardian  above  everything  else; 
snew  that,  separated  from  him,  life  woulrt  be  a  dreary  blank  to 
her  ;  yet,  much  as  she  loved  him,  she  could  not  divest  herself  of 
&  species  of.ioar,  of  dread.  The  thought  of  being  his  wife 
filled  her  with  vague  apprehension.  He  had  hastened  the  mai> 
riage  ;  the  old  place  had  been  thoroughly  repaired  and  refo* 
22 


606  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

niflled,  and  this  momiu.cc  she  would  go  hojae  a  wife,  Sin 
clarped  her  bauds  over  her  eyes ;  the  futuio  looked  fearful 
She  knew  the  passionate,  exacting  nature  of  the  man  with 
whose  destiny  she  was  about  to  link  her  own,  and  she  shrank 
buck,  as  the  image  of  Creola  rose  before  her.  The  door  opened, 
and  Mrs.  Asbury  entered,  accompanied  by  Dr.  llartwell.  The 
orphan  looked  tip,  and  leaned  heavily  against  the  window.  Mrs, 
Aslnry  broke  the  silence. 

"  They  are  waiting  for  you,  my  dear.  The  minister  cams 
some  moments  ago.  The  clock  has  struck  ten." 

She  handed  her  a  pair  of  gloves  from  the  table,  and  stood  in 
the  door,  waiting  for  her.  Beulali  drew  them  on,  and  then,  with 
a  long  breath,  glanced  at  Dr.  llartwell.  He  looked  restless,  and 
she  thought  sterner,  than  she  had  seen  him  since  his  return. 
He  was  very  pale  and  his  lips  were  compressed  firmly. 

"  You  look  frightened,  Beulah.  You  tremble,"  said  he, 
drawing  her  arm  through  his,  and  fixing  his  eyes  searchingly  on 
her  face. 

"  Yes.  Oh,  yes.  I  believe  I  am  frightened,"  she  answered, 
w.th  a  constrained  smile. 

She  saw  his  brow  darken,  and  his  cheek  flush,  but  he  said  no 
more,  and  led  her  down  to  the  parlor,  where  the  members  of  the 
family  were  assembled.  Claudia  and  Eugene  were  also  present. 
The  minister  met  them  in  the  centre  of  the  room  ;  and  there,  in 
the  solemn  hush,  a  few  questions  were  answered,  a  plain  band 
of  gold  encircled  her  finger,  and  the  deep  tones  of  the  clergy- 
man  pronounced  her  Guy  Hartwell's  wife.  Eugene  took  hei 
in  bis  arms  and  kissed  her  tenderly,  whispering  : 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  sister  and  friend  !  I  sincerely  hope  that 
1  j  ,7ur  married  life  will  prove  happier  than  mine  " 

Their  congratulations  wearied  her,  and  she  was  glad  when  the 
carriage  came  to  bear  her  away.  Bidding  adieu  to  her  friends, 
ghe  was  handed  into  the  carriage,  and  Dr.  Hartwcll  took  th« 
teat  beside  her.  The  ride  was  short ;  neither  spoke,  and  when 
the  door  was  opened,  and  she  entered  the  well- remembered 


BEULAH.  50? 

3,  she  would  gladly  have  retreated  to  the  greenhouse,  and 
sought  solitude  to  collect  her  thoughts  ;  but  a  hand  caught  hers, 
and  she  soou  found  herself  seated  on  a  sofa  in  the  study.  She 
felt  that  a  pair  of  eyes  were  riveted  on  her  face,  and  suddenly 
the  blood  surged  into  her  white  cheeks.  Her  hand  lay  clasped 
in  his,  and  her  head  drooped  lower,  to  avoid  his  searching  gaze. 

"  Oh,  Beulah  !  my  wife  !  why  are  you  afraid  of  me  ?" 

The  low,  musical  tones  caused  her  heart  to  thrill  strangely 
she  made  a  great  effort,  and  lifted  her  head.  She  saw  the 
expression  of  sorrow  that  clouded  his  face  ;  saw  his  white  brow 
wrinkle  ;  and  as  her  eyes  fell  on  the  silver  threads  scattered 
through  his  brown  hair,  there  came  an  instant  revolution  of  feel- 
ing ;  fear  vanished  ;  love  reigned  supreme.  She  threw  her  arms 
up  about  his  neck,  arid  exclaimed  : 

fc'  I  am  not  afraid  of  you  now.  May  God  bless  my  guardian  1 
iny  husband  1" 

Reader,  marriage  is  not  the  end  of  life;  it  is  but  the  beginning 
of  a  new  course  of  duties  ;  but  I  cannot  now  follow  Beulah. 
Henceforth,  her.  history  is  bound  up  with  another's.  To  save  her 
husband  from  his  unbelief,  is  the  labor  of  future  years.  She 
had  learned  to  suffer,  and  to  bear  patiently  ;  and  though  her 
patli  looks  sunny,  and  her  heart  throbs  with  happy  hopes,  this 
one  shadow  lurks  over  her  home  and  dims  her  joys.  Weeks  and 
months  glided  swiftly  on.  Dr.  Hartwell's  face  lost  its  stern  rigi- 
dity, and  his  smile  became  constantly  genial.  His  wife  was  hia 
idol  ;  day  by  day,  his  love  for  her  seemed  more  completely  to 
revolutionize  his  nature.  His  cynicism  melted  insensibly  away  ; 
Lis  lips  forgot  their  iron  compression  ;  now  and  then,  his  long- 
forgotten  laugh  rang  through  the  house.  Beulah  was  conscious 
of  the  power  she  wielded,  and  trembled  lest  she  failed  to  employ 
ft  properly  One  Sabbath  afternoon,  she  sat  in  her  room,  with 
her  cheek  on  her  hand,  absorbed  in  earnest  thought.  Her  little 
Bible  lay  on  her  lap,  and  she  was  pondering  the  text  she  had 
heard  that  morning.  Charon  came  and  nestled  his  huge  head 
against  her.  Presently  she  heard  the  quick  tramp  of  hoofg  nod 


508  B  E  U  L  A  fl . 

whir  of  wheels ;  and  Boon  after,  her  husband  entered  and  sat 
down  beside  her. 

"  What  arc  you  thinking  of?"  said  he,  passing  his  hand  ore! 
her  head,  carelessly. 

"  Thinking  of  my  life — of  the  bygone  years  of  etrnggle." 

"  They  are  past,  and  can  trouble  you  no  more.  '  Let  the  dead 
past  bury  its  dead  !' " 

"  No,  my  past  can  never  die.  I  ponder  it  often,  and  it  doei 
ine  good  ;  strengthens  me,  by  keeping  me  humble.  I  was  jost 
thinking  of  the  dreary,  desolate  days  and  nights  I  passed,  search- 
ing for  a  true  philosophy,  and  going  further  astray  with  every 
effort.  I  was  so  proud  of  my  intellect ;  put  so  much  faith  in  my 
owr.  powers ;  it  was  no  wonder  I  was  so  benighted." 

"  Where  is  your  old  worship  of  genius  ?"  asked  her  husband, 
watching  her  curiously. 

"  I  have  not  lost  it  all.  I  hope  I  never  shall.  Human  gemu* 
has  accomplished  a  vast  deal  for  man's  temporal  existence.  The 
physical  sciences  have  been  wheeled  forward  in  the  march  of 
mind,  and  man's  earthly  path  gemmed  with  all  that  a  morel) 
sensual  nature  could  desire.  But  looking  aside  from  these  chau 
ncls,  what  has  it  effected  for  philosophy,  that  great  burden 
which  constantly  recalls  Hhe  fabletl  labors  of  Sisyphus  and  tlu 
Danaides?  Since  the  rising  of  Bethlehem's  star,  in  the  cloudy 
sky  of  polytheism,  what  has  human  genius  discovered  of  God, 
eternity,  destiny  ?  Metaphysicians  build  gorgeous  cloud  pa- 
laces, but  the  soul  cannot  dwell  in  their  cold,  misty  atmosphere. 
Antiquarians  wrangle  and  write  ;  Egypt's  moldoring  monuments 
arc  raked  from  their  desert  graves,  and  made  the  theme  of  scieu. 
tine  debate  ;  but  has  all  this  learned  disputation  contributed  one 
iota  to  clear  the  thorny  way  of  strict  morality  ?  Put  the  Bibls 
out  of  sight,  and  how  much  will  human  intellect  discover  con- 
cerning our  origin — our  ultimate  destiny  ?  In  the  morning  of 
time,  sages  handled  these  vital  questions,  and  died,  not  one  step 
Dearer  the  truth  than  when  they  began.  Now,  our  philosopher! 
ttraggle,  earnestly  and  honestly,  to  make  plain  the  same  inscrutfr 


B  E  U  L  A  H  .  509 

Me  mysteries.  Yes,  blot  out  the  records  of  Moses,  and  we  would 
prope  in  starless  night ;  for  notwithstanding  the  many  priceless 
blessings  it  has  discovered  for  man,  the  torch  of  science  will  never 
pierce  and  illumine  the  recesses  over  which  Almighty  God  ha* 
hung  his  veil.  Here  we  see,  indeed,  as  '  through  a  glass, 
darkly.'  Yet  I  believe  the  day  is  already  dawning,  when  scien- 
tific data  will  not  only  cease  to  be  antagonistic  to  scriptural 
accounts,  but  will  deepen  the  impress  of  Divinity  on  the  pages 
of  holy  writ ;  when  '  the  torch  shall  be  taken  out  of  the  hand  of 
the  infidel,  and  set  to  burn  in  the  temple  of  the  living  God  ;* 
when  Science  and  Religion  shall  link  hands.  I  revere  the  lonely 
thinkers  to  whom  the  world  is  indebted  for  its  great  inventions. 
I  honor  the  tireless  laborers  who  toil  in  laboratories  ;  who  sweep 
midnight  skies,  in  search  of  new  worlds  ;  who  upheave  primeval 
rocks,  hunting  for  footsteps  of  Deity  ;  and  I  believe  that  every 
scientific  fact  will  ultimately  prove  but  another  lamp,  planted 
along  the  path  which  leads  to  a  knowledge  of  Jehovah  I  Ah  1 
it  is  indeed  peculiarly  the  duty  of  Christians,  'to  watch,  with 
reverence  and  joy,  tlie  unveiling  of  the  august  brow  of  Nature, 
by  tLe  hand  of  Science  ;  and  to  be  ready  to  call  mankind  to  a 
worship  ever  new  1'  Human  thought  subserves  many  useful, 
nay,  noble  ends  ;  the  Creator  gave  it,  as  a  powerful  instrument, 
to  improve  man's  temporal  condition  ;  but  oh,  sir,  I  speak  of 
what  I  know,  when  I  say :  alas,  for  that  soul  who  forsakes  the 
divine  ark,  and  embarks  on  the  gilded  toys  of  man's  invention, 
hoping  to  breast  the  billows  of  life,  and  be  anchored  safely  in  the 
harbor  of  eternal  rest !  The  heathens,  '  having  no  law,  are  a 
law  unto  themselves  ;'  but  for  such  as  deliberately  reject  the 
given  light,  only  bitter  darkness  remains.  I  know  it;  for  I,  too, 
••nee  groped,  wailing  for  help." 

"  Your  religion  is  full  of  mystery,"  said  her  husband,  gravely 

"  Yes,  of  divine  mystery.    Truly,  '  a  God  comprehended  is  no 

God  at  all  1'     Christianity  is  clear,  as  to  rules  of  life  and  duty 

There  is  no  mystery  left  about  the  directions  to  man  ;  yet  thert 

is  a  divine  mystery  infolding  it,  which  tells  of  its  divine  origin. 


510  B  E  U  L  A  H  . 

and  promises  a  fuller  revelation  when  man  is  Gttcd  to  rccciee  it 
If  it  were  not  so,  we  would  call  it  man's  invention.  You  tun 
from  Revelation,  because  it  contains  some  tilings  }Ton  cannot  com- 
prehend ;  yet  you  plunge  into  a  deeper,  darker  mystery,  \vhef 
you  embrace  the  theory  of  an  eternal,  self-existing  universe,  haT 
hig  no  intelligent  creator,  yet  constantly  creating  intelligent 
beings.  Sir,  can  you  understand  how  matter  creates  mind  ?" 

She  had  laid  her  Bible  on  his  knee  ;  her  folded  hands  rested 
upon  it,  and  her  grey  eyes,  clear  and  earnest,  looked  up  reve- 
rently into  her  husband's  noble  face.  His  soft  hand  wandered 
orer  her  head,  and  he  seemed  pondering  her  words. 

May  God  aid  the  wife  in  her  holy  work  of  lore 


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*  HOY  06  1995 


JUAN  2  5 


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<?At\u\  i  n 


